


breaking ground

by moonlitdan



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety Disorder, Bullying, Chaptered, Eventual Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hate to Love, Humor, I dont know where this was going, Love/Hate, M/M, Minor Suicidal Thoughts, Minor Violence, Pining, The Gangs All Here, Unrequited Love, Volleyball Dorks doing things, artist!Yamaguchi, draw me like one of your french girls yamaguchi, i dont know what else to tag this, updated whenever i have time lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-12 18:42:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 34,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7118005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonlitdan/pseuds/moonlitdan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was tall, he was blond, and Yamaguchi’s brain could only manage to elicit thoughts in the form of a long string of curse words.</p><p>So much for looking forward to a new start.<br/>-<br/>aka the time that yamaguchi starts high school and figures out that holding a grudge is both the easiest and hardest thing he's ever done in his life; tsukishima simultaneously wonders how it's possible for one person to be able to make him feel so many things at once.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. a new dawn, a new day (...sort of)

**Author's Note:**

> hello! i had this thought for a fic one day while rewatching s2 of the anime and i thought:  
> "sure, why not?"
> 
> so here it is!  
> i'll upload fairly regularly as i'm on summer break, but here's the first chapter.  
> enjoy!

Yamaguchi could pick him out of a lineup. Tall, blond, and probably no good. 

 

He hasn’t seen anyone like him since that day, many years ago, when he was lying on the ground close to tears. He doesn’t know anything about him, but he knows that if they were to cross paths again, Yamaguchi would either start crying or throw up out of pure hatred. 

 

And yet, his sketchbooks are full of him.

 

Yamaguchi has always loved to draw. He says he’s no good at it, but he’s had girls crowd around his desk in school while sketching. He still convinces himself that they aren’t watching him, and most times he’s right, because when he glances up he can see their eyes trained on the paper or the pencil, because why would anyone be looking at him anyway? Mostly, he draws people that only exist in his mind. The most frequent visitor to his thoughts is Blond Boy ™ , with his glasses resting crooked on the bridge of his nose, and his hair mussed up in the front, and an oversized hoodie draping his frame. Yamaguchi has no idea who he is. He has no idea how to draw his face. Smiling? Smirking? Gasping? The list goes on and on, because even though he may be real, Yamaguchi does not and will not ever know him.

 

But he can already say he hates him.

 

_ “Yamaguchi, you’re so scrawny! Do you ever eat? When will you ever get strong?” _

 

_ “You’re almost half my height!” _

 

_ “What are you, a crybaby?” _

 

_ “Look at his freckles! His face looks so dirty!” _

 

_ Yamaguchi covers his eyes, as if that will make the other boys disappear. He pictures himself in a magician’s cloak and hat, waving his wand to cause the bullies to vanish into midair. He peeks through his fingers, and their still towering over him, his height a clear disadvantage. One of them, he thinks his name is Yukio, shoves Yamaguchi’s shoulders and suddenly he’s on the ground. Having had the wind almost knocked out of him, tears start to swell up in his eyes, and that causes the boys to laugh even harder. Yamaguchi doesn’t want to look up, but he does, just as another boy passes by, hands in his pockets as he follows the concrete trail surrounding the park. _

 

_ Yamaguchi makes eye contact. The boy is tall, taller than the boys in front of him, and his eyes look quizzical and curious behind the glasses he wears low on his nose. A pair of headphones rests on his head, and the cord trails down into the front pocket of his hoodie. His eyebrow arches slightly. Yamaguchi tries his best to plead silently that maybe, just maybe, this boy could scare the bullies away, or come to his rescue, or… _

 

_...and he keeps walking. Yamaguchi feels his heart sink down into his stomach and he lets his hands fall from his face, tears spilling onto his cheeks. Dust flies up around him as the boys start to kick at the ground in front of him. _

 

Yamaguchi spends his nights, from that day when he was an elementary school student to today, the night before the first day of his first year at Karasuno High School, reliving every instance of name-calling, of beating, of bullying he’s ever endured, because some part of him thinks he deserves it. 

 

“A fresh start,” he sighs, letting his lungs deflate in his chest. 

 

Stretched out on his bed, his arms crossed behind his head, he tries to focus his thoughts on being positive. His room is comfortably quiet; the sounds of his breathing and the summer insects outside his window are the only noises stirring the calm. Tomorrow will be new and exciting. It’ll be a chance for Yamaguchi to make friends and find a place for himself. He’s even planned to sign up for the volleyball club (upon insistence from his middle school gym teacher) and that’ll provide him a niche without him even having to try.

 

For the first time in his life, Yamaguchi is looking forward to waking up and going to school.

 

\--

 

His first thought: this building is fucking huge.

 

Yamaguchi was one of the select few from his middle school to be attending Karasuno, so it wasn’t like he had anyone to reunite with when he arrived at the school building after a strenuous 20 minute bike ride. He walked his bike up to one of the racks and pulled the chain and lock out from his back pocket, absentmindedly rubbing the spot where the metal had dug into his skin. After securing his bike, he stood from where he had been kneeling and looked around.

 

There were so many people. So many people that looked like they already had friends. Already had places. Already had it made.

 

And there was Yamaguchi, shirt ruffled from where it was tucked into his belt, black jacket just a tiny bit too big on him, dark ash hair flying in all sorts of directions when the warm, late-summer breeze happened to drift by. 

 

He felt like a mess.

 

Starting his trek into the building itself, Yamaguchi found that no one seemed to be staring at him, or talking about him, or laughing and pointing, saying ‘Hah, look at  _ that  _ guy!’ It was quite nice, and very reassuring to know that he could be invisible in peace. Inside, he found that the main hallway was packed, and he managed to squeeze up against the wall, hands at his sides. There were colorful posters on the walls, advertising various extracurriculars and sports, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw a plain white flyer for the volleyball club, posted right next to a bathroom door.

 

_ Fly with the crows. _

_ Karasuno High School Volleyball Club. _

 

Yamaguchi thought it was a little pathetic; the flyer had no color and it was barely hanging onto the wall by what little tape had apparently been used. He knew to stop by the volleyball gym after classes, so he didn’t bother pushing through the large crowds to read it. He reached one of the stairwells, where the crowd had thinned out and students were lounging around before the first bell of the day rang. Seeing as he had no friends to lounge around  _ with,  _ Yamaguchi took a quick glance at the crumbled-up schedule he’d been holding in his hands. 

 

Class 4, Room 12, Second Floor.

 

The climb up the stairs was fairly precarious - he wanted to avoid people as much as possible, which was hard when the staircase was packed with tall boys and small girls conversing, laughing, and rough-housing - but eventually he made it to the second floor, which was considerably less crowded. The hallway went off in two directions; a sign on the wall above his head indicated that his first class of the day (math, of all things) was to the right. Yamaguchi guessed that, as he progressed past rooms 2, 3, and 4, this hallway was for the upper-level classes. When he had gotten the results of his entrance exam back, he hadn’t expected to be placed in Class 4, but his mom and dad had hugged the life out of him when he told them, so he supposed it wasn’t a fluke: apparently, he had brains.

 

Room 12 was at the end of the hallway. When he peered in past the door frame, he saw that it was almost bare, with the exception of a few other students. Yamaguchi swallowed his nerves. If he were to fulfill his promises to himself at all, he’d have to walk through this door, get up the courage to talk to someone, and make a few friends. His stomach wasn’t that upset, but he found himself willing his body to stop being weird and remain calm, at least until the day was over. He managed to move his legs and was now fully inside the doorframe when a voice came from behind him.

 

“Excuse me.”

 

Yamaguchi almost jumped out of his skin, and when he sidestepped, the person brushed past him into the classroom, and all Yamaguchi could do was stare in disbelief, horror, amazement, and multiple other emotions he couldn’t quite identify.

 

He was tall, he was blond, and Yamaguchi’s brain could only manage to elicit thoughts in the form of a long string of curse words.

 

So much for looking forward to a new start.

 

\--

 

Tsukishima Kei enjoyed being intimidating.

 

No, really. It was one of the many qualities about himself that he thought made him far superior than a large majority of his peers. As he made his way through the school building as the day progressed, he found that his presence had three typical responses.

 

One: people scattered. Tsukishima wondered if people had simply never seen someone his height.

 

Two: people stared. He contributed it to something his brother had called “resting bitch face,” and although Tsukishima simply believed his face to be normal, of all things, others might have pictured him as the main character of a horror manga.

 

Three: people whispered. He wasn’t an idiot; it was easy to tell when someone was talking about him. They’d meet his eyes, glance away, and then lean into their friends to say something about the way he walked, or how they could hear the music coming from his headphones that rested around his neck.

 

But Tsukishima did not care in the slightest what people thought about him.

 

It was school. He was here to learn, not to care.

 

Granted, he’d spent the whole day in advanced classes, which had admittedly worn him out in terms of thinking power. He could only do so many advanced algebra problems, or English literature readings, before his brain gave out and tended to drift. Right now, as he sat in the last period of the day, he was not focusing on the teacher, who was rambling on about the underlying causes of World War II. He was not focusing on the textbook on his desk in front of him, even though he willed his eyes to follow along on the page, however futile  _ that _ attempt was.

 

Suddenly, the bell rang, signaling the end of the mental torture. He got to his feet and started packing his things away into his bookbag, shrugging his shoulders as he slung it over his arm and left the room before anyone had a chance to talk to him. Not like anyone would, anyway.

 

As soon as he made it out the door, he collided with someone significantly smaller and sent whoever it was sprawling onto the ground.

 

“What the--”

 

“Excuse me,” Tsukishima manages to say, cutting off whatever the voice coming from below was in the process of saying. He extends a hand towards the boy on the floor with the intent of being considerate.

 

He’s being stared at again, although he doesn’t ever recall being stared at from this angle, which is certainly refreshing. The boy, someone Tsukishima recognizes from earlier - Yama...something - just looks at his hand as if he’s never seen a human appendage before. He lifts his own hand to brush the dark hair away from his eyes, and Tsukishima notices some sort of pained expression cross the guy’s face. After an awkward few moments, Yama-something grabs the hand and Tsukishima helps him up.

 

“Sorry. Didn’t see you,” says Tsukishima, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

 

Yama-something doesn’t reply, just continues to stare, so Tsukishima saunters on down the hall, wondering why the hell some people were so odd. He’d never understand.

 

He passed a clock mounted on the wall. A mere fifteen minutes to spare before the first volleyball club meeting. Tsukishima considered not signing up at first, but the way his brother had looked when he had admitted this one night during dinner had changed his mind; Akiteru had never brought pride to himself, and so now it was up to Tsukishima to do what he “had never been able to,” or something.

 

It was just a club, but Tsukishima was slightly excited nonetheless.

 

Although, he wouldn’t admit it to anyone.

 

\--

 

Yamaguchi spent the following five minutes staring into space, standing in the same spot he had been knocked down at.

 

Tall, blond, and “excuse me” had a face now. It was a good-looking one, too, and Yamaguchi could almost hear the screaming coming from the back of his mind. All those years ago, would he have imagined  _ literally _ running into the one person who could have changed his life that fateful day? Did Yamaguchi think that he’d end up loathing a boy at least ten centimeters taller than he, with wavy hair and golden eyes and a crease between his eyebrows and… Yamaguchi needed to stop thinking.

 

Tall, blond, and ruining his life.

 

Maybe volleyball would take his mind off of the absolute horror and shock that he was currently feeling. He checked his watch. Fifteen minutes to go. Yamaguchi figured he should be at the gym early, so he set off to find it, hoping that no more attractive boys would pop out of doorways and crush him into little, bite-sized pieces.

 

Tall, blond, and no name to put to his smug face.

  
Yet.


	2. so no one told you life was gonna be this way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yamaguchi Tadashi.  
> Cause of death: overthinking literally everything.

Yamaguchi manages to find the gym, and he’s comfortably on time; there’s a full eight minutes before 3 in the afternoon. Upon entering, he stands in the doorway for a few seconds before another boy approaches him, a wide grin on his face. His hair, light gray, is sticking to his forehead in places, and his eyes are wide and friendly.

 

“Hello! Are you one of our new first years?” His voice is sweet, and Yamaguchi feels a small smile playing on his lips. He nods.

 

“It’s nice to have you here! I see you’ve already changed, that’s good. We’ll start practice soon!”

With that, he turned and walked away, and Yamaguchi heard a chorus of ‘Suga-san’ as he greeted another group of boys. He felt alright - no one seemed to be giving him any grief, and the fellow club members looked nice enough. The squeaking of shoes on the polished wood floor made Yamaguchi feel right at home. He’d started playing volleyball fairly late, and it hadn’t been his intention to ever continue playing, but the coach of his middle school club had insisted, despite Yamaguchi’s view of himself as a player (which, quite frankly, was really bad). He still enjoyed being surrounded by the sport, even if he wasn’t the best.

 

Maybe he could learn a lot from this.

 

Soon enough, another boy in the same shorts and shirt that Yamaguchi had on came into the gym, and he looked up from where he was stretching on the floor to see a mess of orange hair and a face full of eagerness and something...quite frightening, like excitement but a thousand times more intense. Yamaguchi wondered if he should get up and introduce himself, just to get to know someone else in his grade. Before he could do anything, though, orange boy was confronted by another club member, and in the middle of the conversation, he began bouncing around like a popcorn kernel; Yamaguchi couldn’t contain the laugh he was holding in.

 

Finishing up his stretching, Yamaguchi lifted an arm to check his watch. 2:59.

 

And just when he thought he was safe, the squeaking of gym shoes reached his ears, and as he got to his feet, Yamaguchi turned his head to see...him.

 

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

 

\--

 

Locking himself in his room was something Yamaguchi did frequently. So frequently, in fact, that he didn’t even have to think about looking at the knob when he reached for it in the dark.

 

Another bad day. Bad days were more familiar than anything else.

 

Junior high was hard. He’d thought it would have been easy to come into a school and be himself, make friends, and do all the things that normal students did. He had sat at his desk with his hands folded politely, head cocked slightly to the side, listening to the teacher’s greetings. He hadn’t expected to be called on first, prompted to introduce himself and give an interesting fact about who he was and what he liked to do. His name had come out in broken pieces. Yama-guchita-dashi. It hadn’t been his fault; something about having everyone’s eyes trained on his mouth made it harder to push the words out into the open. It was nothing. And yet, it gave everything away about “who he was.” Feeble, nervous, stupid, crybaby.

 

God, why was he  _ like _ this?

 

He could feel the tears coming before he even flopped down on his bed. He couldn’t even bother turning on the lamp.

 

Another thing Yamaguchi did frequently: hated himself.

 

He told himself that he’d try hard this year to make friends. Grade 7 was huge. Grade 7 meant that he was in a new school with new people and new opportunities. He told himself that he’d try hard to  _ not  _ try that hard, that people would like him for who he was, that he wouldn’t get made fun of anymore. Yamaguchi promised himself a lot, but he was not good at fulfilling those promises. He was better at denying himself things in return for all the bad days; for every bad day, he wouldn’t play volleyball because he did not deserve to. For every stutter, he would give up one of his favorite foods for a week. For every embarrassment, he’d force himself to live through whatever it was over and over in the darkness of his room late at night. 

 

He could calm himself down by drawing.

 

Sitting up, Yamaguchi hastily wiped away the moisture on his cheeks and got up to switch the lamp on his bedside table on; light flooded his room, and he rubbed his raw eyes as they adjusted. His sides hurt from coughing in the midst of his sobbing, but he ignored it, letting the ache go dull. 

 

Under his bed was where he kept his sketchbooks. 

 

In total, there are seven: six of which are completely full with assorted sketches and water-colorings and line art. Yamaguchi looks through them from time to time, reminding himself of the things his mind has conjured up. He started this as a hobby - an outlet, rather - for expressing what he had no one else to talk to about. His only friend was the pencil with bite marks sunken into the wood that he held in his hand whenever he felt like not existing for a while; it was a good friend. It was probably the best friend he’d ever have (and maybe the only one, at this rate).

 

Yamaguchi grabbed the sketchbook on the top of the stack and flipped it open to his most recent endeavor: blond boy. When he had started it, the curve of his chin hadn’t looked quite right, and the way his ears peeked out from under tufts of hair made him look slightly elf-ish, so Yamaguchi pressed his eraser to the paper and tried to get it right. It only took a moment. Blond boy still had no face, as was the case in every single one of the drawings Yamaguchi had done depicting him. It was hard to be enamored with the idea of how someone was supposed to be, to look, to act, when you had no clue who they were. It frustrated him to no end. In one violent motion, Yamaguchi brought the lead of his pencil down to the paper and scratched a heavy, dark mark in the space where there should’ve been eyes and a nose and a mouth...where there should’ve been something human.

 

To him, blond boy was not human. He was the enemy, he was cold, and he was everything that Yamaguchi couldn’t draw.

 

Then why did he keep coming back to him, from the structure of his neck or the waves of his hair..?

 

For blond boy to be real (although, he  _ was _ real, just not present) would mean that Yamaguchi would feel a sense of validation if something like the first incident were to happen again. Many centimeters and an inkling of self-confidence had happened between that time frame though, and Yamaguchi felt as if he could throw a few punches if he concentrated. There was something about the idea of coming face-to-face with the boy who had chosen to ignore his struggle; it sent shivers down Yamaguchi’s spine, and he found himself holding the sketchbook in clenched fists. The paper crumpled under his fingers.

 

Damn him.

 

Damn him and his chin curve and his elf ears.

 

\--

 

“Hinata Shouyou.”

 

“Yes!” 

 

“Kageyama Tobio.”

 

“Yes!”

 

“Tsukishima Kei.”

 

“..Yes.”

 

Yamaguchi almost didn’t notice it at first. Sugawara-san had the first years lined up in no particular order; he called a name, got an answer, and checked something off of a list clipped onto the clipboard he held. He had found himself standing next to blond boy, and the seething rage on his face was quite hard to disguise. Yamaguchi hoped the scrunch of his nose and the straight line his mouth was set in looked normal enough to the older team members eyeing them.

 

Tsukishima Kei. From the corner of his eye, Yamaguchi was able to see him respond to Sugawara-san, and he was able to see the way his lips turned down at the corner, and the way his hair brushed the tops of his ears (which were not very elf-ish, but still looked pointy enough to stand out). 

 

The name rang like a gong inside his head until Yamaguchi almost didn’t notice Sugawara standing in front of him, furrowing his brow. 

 

“Yamaguchi Tadashi, right?”

 

“Y-yes! Sorry!” Yamaguchi could feel himself going several shades redder, and blond boy - Tsukishima - snickered beside him. A weight sank down deep in Yamaguchi’s stomach. How dare he laugh at him. How dare he stand here and not recall who Yamaguchi was and how  _ dare _ he look so nonchalant about everything and…

 

Yamaguchi Tadashi.

Cause of death: overthinking  _ literally _ everything.

 

“Listen up you pesky first years! People may talk crap about this team, and about how terrible we are and...all that stuff, but that doesn’t matter!” Yamaguchi was having a hard time taking this guy seriously. He stood with the older members, in a stance that must’ve been intended to look accusatory but turned out quite comical. The shaved head and the daring in his expression almost frightened Yamaguchi, until one of the third years stepped beside him and held a hand out as if to stop his ranting.

 

“Tanaka-san, please calm down. You’ll scare them.”

 

“Sorry, Daichi.”

 

“Now,” Daichi started, glancing down the line, “it’s important that you all know that what we want to accomplish will only be possible if you cooperate and work as a team. Karasuno has been to nationals in the past...isn’t that something you would like to be able to experience?”

 

Yamaguchi found himself nodding. He noticed that Tsukishima had been looking annoyed since they had been addressed, and Yamaguchi forced himself to keep looking straight ahead. Down the line, orange boy - Hinata - had begun wiggling around where he stood, much to the apparent disapproval of the guy who stood next to him; if menacing looks were lethal, the one on Kageyama Tobio’s face would render him a murderer.

 

“Alright,” said Daichi, looking towards the third year that had first acknowledged Yamaguchi earlier, “Suga and I have decided to spend some time conditioning as a team! Doesn’t that sound fun?”

 

Yamaguchi suppressed a groan, and Tanaka erupted in noncompliance, looking as if he were about to grab Daichi by the leg and beg to not have to run the miles that he had meant by ‘conditioning.’ Yamaguchi didn’t mind running, although he had hoped to be able to practice volleyball, but he supposed the first day was just for getting a feel for who the team was and what they did.

 

Soon enough, they were jogging as a group through the streets of the neighborhoods near the school. 

 

Yamaguchi prided himself; he’d done a good job keeping up, and at least he wasn’t the slowest. That title belonged to Tsukishima, who seemed to not care at all what the pace of the group was, despite having the longest legs and therefore the longest stride. Yamaguchi wondered what his deal was, but every time he’d look over his shoulder, Tsukishima would suddenly pull ahead and match his tempo with Yamaguchi’s own. It was pushing his buttons, as if he were purposely going out of his way to annoy him. He didn’t even  _ know _ the guy, for crying out loud. 

 

It continued like this until the team regrouped back at the high school. Yamaguchi felt his legs burning and his lungs heaving, but he didn’t let it get to him. The manager, a quiet third year girl that Yamaguchi felt instantly intimidated by, stood around offering water bottles, and he gladly accepted one, as did the rest of the boys.

 

“Thank you, Kiyoko-san!”

 

“Kiyoko-san, you’re looking especially lovely--ow! Sorry, Kiyoko-san!”

 

Suga told the first years that they could go home, and Yamaguchi felt instantly relieved. He guessed he could put up with this kind of rigor; it had certainly been awhile since he’d done any sort of physical conditioning and he was thankful for the ache in his muscles. He quickly gathered his things from the gym. Outside, the sun was setting, casting shadows down on the ground around him as he walked the path leading to the front of the school, where he had chained his bike earlier. Yamaguchi almost didn’t notice the footsteps behind him until he got to the street, walking his bike instead of riding it, and the silence of the dusk was interrupted by the echo of the sound off of the surrounding buildings.

 

Yamaguchi paused to look back, and there was Tsukishima. It caught him off guard, and he hoped Tsukishima didn’t notice the startled look that must’ve appeared on his face.

 

“Yamaguchi, correct?”

 

“Um…”  _ What?  _ Why was he talking to him? Why did he ask if that was his name? Was he about to be murdered by this other student, oh God, and no one else was around to hear him if he started screaming. Yamaguchi’s heart was about to beat straight up his throat and out when suddenly--

 

“Do you live around here?”

 

Yamaguchi didn’t have time to react to Tsukishima’s question, because he had started walking along the sidewalk and Yamaguchi felt compelled to walk with him. It might’ve been the look in Tsukishima’s eyes; behind the glasses, Yamaguchi noticed that they looked friendly, but also perceptive, and he didn’t know if was able to trust that, to be honest. Nevertheless, he found himself following the other boy to the crosswalk.

 

“Yeah...why?” Yamaguchi managed to answer Tsukishima’s question, and he saw the taller boy’s lip curl into a...smile? No, it was more of a smirk, if anything.

 

“I usually don’t like company, but you looked rather vulnerable and defenseless standing by yourself, so I figured I’d get you to walk with me.”

 

Yamaguchi could feel the smoke whistling out of his own ears as his mind tried to wrap itself around the words coming from this guy’s mouth.

 

“ _ Excuse  _ me?”

 

“Don’t worry. I’m not trying to belittle you. I just thought you might like a...friend, I suppose.”

 

“W-why do you assume we’re friends?” Yamaguchi was utterly lost here. Did Tsukishima remember him? If he did, did he think that he was forgiven or something? Yamaguchi would not let him get away with that so easily. In the midst of his thoughts, he hadn’t realized Tsukishima hadn’t stopped walking, and Yamaguchi had to jog a few feet to catch up.

 

“We’re in the same class, aren’t we?” Tsukishima said, eyeing him curiously.

 

“Well, yes, but…”

 

“Do you have a reason to not acquaint yourself, then?”

 

They’d been walking a while. Yamaguchi hadn’t responded, and now they were nearing Yamaguchi’s house; the pathway was lined with tall bushes and the shade covering him made him shiver. Tsukishima didn’t seem to mind that Yamaguchi was not talking, and the silence was almost comfortable, but Yamaguchi was internally destructing as he thought of what to say when they reached his home.

 

“I, um, this is where I live...so, goodbye, I guess?” said Yamaguchi, and his voice grew smaller and smaller when Tsukishima slowed to a halt and watched while he tripped over his words.

 

“You never answered my question,” Tsukishima articulated, raising an eyebrow. Yamaguchi hated his eyebrows with a passion, despite how weird it seemed. They’d always been a pain to draw, because the angle was hard to execute perfectly (most often, “blond boy” would end up looking surprised instead of critical, or mean instead of curious). Now, as Yamaguchi stood facing Tsukishima, he could paint a million pictures in his head, and they all had perfect eyebrows.

 

“I’m sorry?”

 

A smile tugged on the corners of Tsukishima’s lips. Yamaguchi cursed himself for noticing so quickly.

 

“I asked if there was any reason you wouldn’t like to be friends.”

 

“Oh.” Yamaguchi thought for a moment. _ I could give him what he wants and he can leave and everything will be okay, or I can bring up what happened in elementary school… _

 

“Well?” Tsukishima added, crossing his arms.

 

“I think,” started Yamaguchi, “that I could get to know you, I guess.”  _ Shit. _

 

The smile grew, and Yamaguchi regretted his words, because Tsukishima looked good when he smiled; it wasn’t cute, and it wasn’t innocent, and it messed with his mind because he couldn’t really tell the difference between happy and condescending.

 

“Good. Have a nice night, Yamaguchi.”

 

With that sentiment, Tsukishima continued walking, leaving Yamaguchi to silently pummel himself into the ground for being the biggest idiot to ever live on Earth. He was about to head inside when he heard a voice calling back down the street. 

 

“I’m sorry, by the way.”

 

And Yamaguchi did not turn around, and he did not acknowledge it, because he was too busy imploding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback is appreciated  
> let me know how much you love/hate it  
> don't worry, the plot thickens (soon)  
> thanks for reading so far! :-)


	3. take me on, (take on me)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was endearing to watch a bird with a broken wing try to fly.

_ “I’m sorry, by the way.” _

 

No matter how hard he tried, Yamaguchi could not fall asleep. His legs ached from volleyball practice earlier, his head was pounding, and the crickets outside were making various noises; the atmosphere was perfect for laying his head down on his pillow and drifting off. No matter how hard he tried, though, Tsukishima Kei would show up behind his closed eyelids and flash a smile. He would cock his head, or raise an eyebrow, or push his glasses up, and Yamaguchi would sit upright immediately, eyes open and wild.

 

Tsukishima’s words were taunting him, playing through every neuron in Yamaguchi’s brain. It made his skin crawl, but at the same time, it made him more confused than anything. Even though it had been days ago, he couldn’t stop hearing them. Something was sitting on the repeat button in his mind.

 

He remembered.

 

He remembered, and he hadn’t given Yamaguchi any indication of it, except those five words upon his departure. Yamaguchi felt as though he could run around the entirety of Sendai, pounding on doors, trying to find answers.

 

Instead, he lay plank-straight over the covers of his bed, and his eyes were fixed on the tiling of the ceiling.

 

Tsukishima remembered the day when he had glided past Yamaguchi, who had pleaded to every god imaginable for something to deviate the bullies around him. He had hoped harder than he ever had, and what did he have to show for it? Nothing but disappointment and a grudge against some guy who seemingly did not give any fucks about Yamaguchi’s wellbeing.

 

Except, maybe Tsukishima did give a  _ few _ fucks, at least, because now he had apologized.

 

Yamaguchi was so utterly confused.

 

What right did Tsukishima have to occupy every crevice of Yamaguchi’s mind like that? Who gave him the power to rip Yamaguchi to shreds and then attempt to bandage the scraps, like he was some toddler’s drawing that had been ripped and needed taping?

 

“That...that...that  _ bastard! _ ”

 

Yamaguchi heard his voice echo around the house; thankfully for him, his parents were out at dinner.

 

He spent the rest of the night like this, muttering under his breath about Tsukishima, until the sounds of birdsong signaled the coming sunrise. 

 

So, he had pulled an all-nighter because of him. It hadn’t been the first time, Yamaguchi would admit.

 

\--

 

There were few things that Tsukishima found annoying - okay, maybe a  _ little _ more than a few - but the one that took the cake was Yamaguchi Tadashi.

 

It was hard to watch when, as practice continued, Yamaguchi was failing to make any serve over the net that stretched across the court. It was even harder to see the expression on his face: a mix of terrified, disappointed, and angry. Tsukishima had gone through blocking drills quite easily, and he stood on the sideline now with Hinata and Kageyama as Yamaguchi hit ball after ball, each one landing against the net with an unfortunate  _ plop. _

 

As much as Tsukishima wanted to laugh, he also wanted to yell, because practice was getting nowhere with Yamaguchi doing what he was doing.

 

“Try to lift it with your fingers as you hit it, like propelling the ball up instead of just straight!” Suga was guiding Yamaguchi through his actions, quite unsuccessfully at that. Yamaguchi tried once more, this time managing to send the volleyball towards the left corner of the net instead of forward. Tsukishima groaned.

 

“Can’t he just switch out?” Kageyama called to Suga. “I’m ready to practice serving, too!”

 

Daichi, who had been watching the action unfold from where he was standing beside the first years, scowled in Kageyama’s direction, and in turn, startled Hinata, who froze and jumped behind Kageyama in an attempt to avoid the glare.

 

“Get away from me, dumbass!”

 

“Kageyama, you made him angry at us!”

 

“He’s mad at me, you airhead, stop cowering behind me!”

 

A headache was being conceived as they bickered. Tsukishima squinted his eyes shut and tried to imagine himself anywhere but here; a deserted island, nice and secluded, with stacks of National Geographic magazines and a playlist of his favorite music and no one around to pester him.

 

The frustrated moan of Yamaguchi pierced through his daydreams. Anguish was dripping off of him, from the way his eyes followed the falling volleyball to the stance his legs were in, admitting defeat after what had seemed like an eternity. Suga didn’t look as if he were optimistic anymore. His words of advice could only stretch so far, and Tsukishima feared that the rubber band of positivity was about to snap in both of their faces if someone didn’t say something soon.

 

Tsukishima wouldn’t be the one to break the silence. Not today, anyway. It was becoming a habit, he noted, that whenever Yamaguchi seemed to be struggling, he couldn’t force himself to intervene, no matter how despicable the pout on Yamaguchi’s face, or the way his eyebrows creased deeper and deeper with every attempt.

 

It was endearing to watch a bird with a broken wing try to fly.

 

“What are you  _ staring  _ at?”

 

Yamaguchi, with his fists balled at his sides, barked the question in Tsukishima’s direction. Everyone else had begun to clean up the gym; Tsukishima, in all honesty, hadn’t realized he had spaced out, apparently with his gaze locked on Yamaguchi’s face.

 

“That effort was quite pathetic,” offered Tsukishima, wiping his brow.

 

Yamaguchi didn’t seem to be phased much; he stood, feet planted in the same spot. Something like surprise shadowed his features, but it was gone in an instant.

 

“Why are you...why are you  _ saying _ these things to me? Didn’t you want to be friends?”

 

“I feel like you could use the help,” Tsukishima said, taking a step closer.

 

“I don’t need your help,” Yamaguchi replied nervously. He was biting his lower lip; Tsukishima tried his best to make it seem like he didn’t care (although, somewhere inside him, he couldn’t ignore the feeling of longing. Wasn’t this  _ how _ you made friends? What was he doing wrong? Apparently telling the truth was not the way to go).

 

“I apologize--”

 

“I don’t need that either.” 

 

Tsukishima had to admit it was an interesting evolution. Yamaguchi’s voice was steadier, although the shaking fists indicated that he still felt intimidated. Some part of Tsukishima wished he could shrink down and be at eye-level with him.

 

“I hardly know you,” continued Yamaguchi, “but you make me mad, and I don’t really know why. These past few practices haven’t been the best, and I know that, so I don’t need some jerk like you to keep telling me how to--”

 

“You’re bleeding,” Tsukishima interjected, suddenly aware of the fact that blood was dripping from Yamaguchi’s nose. In a second, the color drained from Yamaguchi’s face, leaving a stark contrast between his freckles and the skin of his cheeks. He looked mortified.

 

“Oh.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Without thinking, Tsukishima peeled off the lime green practice jersey he had on and handed it swiftly to Yamaguchi. Holding it up to his face, Yamaguchi’s eyes met his own and Tsukishima was mindful of the other club members, who were done cleaning up and were now staring.

 

Looking at Suga, who had jogged over from another corner of the gym, Tsukishima said, “He had a nosebleed.”

 

“I can see that. Yamaguchi, are you--”

 

“I’m okay.” His voice was muffled from under the fabric.

 

“I guess you can, er, keep that practice jersey,” Suga remarked, a half-hearted grin on his face.

 

Yamaguchi just nodded, and Tsukishima felt a twinge of pity, and the glare that Yamaguchi was frying him with signaled that he should definitely be feeling guilty.

 

After all, Yamaguchi was a pain in the ass to care so much about. Tsukishima couldn’t help that.

 

\--

 

It’s past midnight, and Yamaguchi sits up at his desk, staring down at the page of his sketchbook in awe.

 

It had taken him only ten minutes to draw a face; the various pencil marks had somehow come together to make eyes, a nose, and lips. The hair was nearly perfect - Yamaguchi brought his pencil across the paper in quick, small strokes, creating waves and small curls on the nape of the neck. All he needed was to draw the glasses.

 

At long last, Yamaguchi had been able to achieve the impossible. It had always been his mission to finish the face, and now he had it. He was afraid that if he looked away, it would erase itself, so he kept his eyes connected to the paper.

 

Life imitated art. The glasses were now perched on the downward slope of the nose, and Yamaguchi felt like he could touch the paper to push them back up to where they were actually supposed to be resting.

 

Tsukishima was always pushing up his damn glasses.

 

And now, with that knowledge, Yamaguchi could finally get a good night’s sleep again.

 

_ They say that when you can't sleep, it’s because someone else, somewhere in the world, is thinking about you. _

 

Perhaps that was the case when Tsukishima was struggling to close his eyes. Perhaps there was someone thinking of him. Perhaps it was stupid to think that in the first place.

 

Everything was quiet outside from what he could hear, and a quick glance at the time on his cell phone, albeit very blurry without his glasses on, told him it was nearly 1 a.m. Why was he still awake? After the long practice this afternoon and Yamaguchi’s bloody nose fiasco, Tsukishima couldn’t seem to shut his brain off. It was times like these that he wished for someone to talk to. Usually, it was just him, and it had been for a very long time. Talking to Akiteru was something that never crossed his mind unless it was dire, and it wasn’t ever dire, so he wouldn’t bother. Akiteru was working late at his office anyway, or out drinking with his friends, and he didn’t feel comfortable enough to text him. As much as personal association irked him, Tsukishima found himself craving the one thing he didn’t have (and often didn’t  _ want  _ to have): a friend.

 

Tsukishima gave his best effort when it came to making friends. He approached them with the offer, friendly enough, and tried his hardest to be the perfect mix of honest, sarcastic, and witty. Except, hardly anyone found his honesty helpful, his sarcasm funny, or his jokes original. Whenever he’d meet anyone, he’d make a bet with himself that they’d be cordial with him for a week and then they’d avoid him. So far, he’d been right one hundred percent of the time.

 

Up until now, that is.

 

Yamaguchi was the exception. Despite hardly reciprocating the effort that Tsukishima was making to communicate with him, and despite the little incident that Yamaguchi still hadn’t forgiven him for, Yamaguchi did not shy away when Tsukishima walked home with him every day after volleyball practice. So far, he hadn’t given him any excuse that would indicate for Tsukishima to stop trying, and if there was one thing he was good at, it was persevering. With Yamaguchi, Tsukishima saw potential. 

 

There was one minor problem, though.

 

Yamaguchi hadn’t forgotten, and if Tsukishima were to guess, he would go as far as to say that Yamaguchi hadn’t expected him to remember.

 

Oh, Tsukishima remembered alright.

 

He remembered being unsure of what to do, because he had never talked to anyone in his school before. He knew the boys who had pushed Yamaguchi to the ground, and he knew that if he did something, they would scatter like ants under a magnifying glass. But that was a scary situation for an elementary school student who had never even related to any of his peers. Tsukishima knew, for example, that people liked to laugh at him and how much taller he was. They would mock his glasses or his hand-me-down clothes, and quite frankly, he hated it. He hated going to school because he wasn’t able to focus with all the whispering behind his back. The smart thing had been to ignore Yamaguchi and the bullies to preserve his own fragile self-image.

 

And what had it cost him? Almost everything.

 

Tsukishima figured that Yamaguchi hated himself. It was easy to tell, especially from the vantage point of someone who also wanted to shatter their own reflection in the mirror. Now that he was older, Tsukishima could see how it had hurt Yamaguchi to witness him walking by without saying anything. He knew that the moment their eyes had met, even for that millisecond of time, Tsukishima had made the wrong decision.

 

The least he could do was try to fix it.

 

It was hard when you had a reputation for being a snarky asshole, but it was the only thing Tsukishima knew how to be. He found it hard to trust people, and that led to layers upon layers of walls that he built to protect himself; sarcasm, bad jokes, and scathing honesty shielded him from a world full of people he had no reason to be wary of. Yamaguchi hadn’t seemed to grow tired of him yet, and for that he was grateful, but Tsukishima knew that he was still some ghost from the past that had come back to haunt him.

 

During practice one day, Tsukishima had gotten to the gym late, and while everyone else had already started their jog, Tsukishima had done some snooping. It hadn’t been the most ethical decision, but the sketchbook peeking out from Yamaguchi’s bookbag had been impossible to ignore.

 

So, he’d had a little look through it. He wasn’t surprised that the pages had been filled with drawings of him. Or, what he could assume was  _ supposed _ to be him, except the faces were all missing. 

 

Tsukishima was well aware of how Yamaguchi felt about him.

 

Surprisingly, it made him happy.

 

It had been a long time since he had been happy about anything.

 

\--

 

Karasuno Volleyball Club was a dysfunctional group composed of too many contrasting personalities to keep track of. They were determined, they were fighters, they were keen, and Yamaguchi did not deserve to be in the presence of any of them.

 

He was useless, to be frank.

 

The team had recently learned that Takeda-sensei, the club advisor, established a connection with Aoba Johsai; there was a practice match scheduled, and Yamaguchi knew he would most likely not be playing. It was okay. He knew he was not a good middle blocker, especially compared to Hinata and Tsukishima, but he was not ready to give up, no matter how long he stayed by the bench.

 

“Tanaka, cover!”

 

He was watching as practice went on. The lineup consisted of Kageyama, Hinata, Tsukishima, Daichi, Tanaka, as well as Asahi and Nishinoya, who had only recently begun practicing with the club again. Yamaguchi looked at them for inspiration - if they could come back from whatever had happened to make them quit playing in the first place, Yamaguchi could certainly find it in him to continue pushing himself to improve.

 

“Kageyama!”

 

Hinata’s voice rang through the gym; right now, the two teams were composed of Kageyama, Hinata, and Tanaka-san, and on the opposite side, Tsukishima, Nishinoya, and Asahi. Yamaguchi knew, as he stood next to Suga and Daichi on the sideline, that there would be no way for the latter of the two to receive the quick that was about to be deployed.

 

Kageyama got into position under Tanaka’s pass, set the ball in a spiral towards Hinata, who had jumped, knees tucked and arm outstretched, into the air; with a bang, the ball hit the other side of the court and bounced out of reach from a very flustered-looking Nishinoya.

 

“Nice kill!” Suga yelled, cupping his hands to his mouth.

 

Daichi blew the whistle around his neck. The teams conjoined again to gather around their captain, and Yamaguchi was glad for the 3-on-3 to be over. He caught a glance of Tsukishima as he came to stand beside him. Instinctively, Yamaguchi curled his hands into fists and shrugged his shoulders forward, trying to make himself smaller.

 

He felt Tsukishima brush up against his arm as Daichi began to speak.

 

“Alright! Good practice today. Takeda-sensei has already informed us of our practice match with Aoba Johsai, which will be held three days from now. I feel as though we have a lot of work to do, especially since we lack a coach, but this will show us our strong points and our weak points, as well as give us a preview of one of our biggest rivals.”

 

With a chorus of “Yes!”’s, practice was over, and Yamaguchi found himself waiting for Tsukishima outside of the gym doors until he finally came out with his bag.

 

“Hey,” Yamaguchi uttered, and Tsukishima started walking, so Yamaguchi followed, as usual.

 

“You didn’t play today,” Tsukishima pointed out as the pair rounded the walkway towards the front of the school.

 

“Yeah,” said Yamaguchi.  _ Wasn’t that obvious? _

 

“Come with me.”

 

That, too, was obvious. Yamaguchi had made it a habit to walk with Tsukishima after practices, although he wasn’t sure why. He guessed he enjoyed Tsukishima’s company, despite the usual silence. It was only broken when Yamaguchi would ask about homework, or Tsukishima would make a comment about the two other first years on the team; it was common for them to joke about Kageyama’s stubbornness, or Hinata’s unrelenting (and most often annoying) attitude.

 

Tsukishima was walking a route Yamaguchi was unfamiliar with. The voice of his anxiety started whispering in his mind: he was going to be killed. Tsukishima was going to beat him up. There were kidnappers waiting around every corner. There were no witnesses around to hear Yamaguchi scream. Tsukishima had rope and a blindfold in his backpack…

 

He hadn’t realized that Tsukishima was carrying a volleyball until they reached a nearby park.

 

“Why are we here, Tsukishima?” Yamaguchi inquired, following suit as the other boy set his bag down against a tree.

 

“I’m going to make you better,” he admitted, flipping the volleyball in his hands.

Yamaguchi didn’t know what to say, and Tsukishima scoffed as he lifted the ball up in his right hand, observing it like food waiting to be eaten.

 

“I said,” Tsukishima added, “that I’m going to make you - sorry,  _ help _ you - to get better.”

 

“Why?” The one word was all Yamaguchi could manage as he watched Tsukishima standing there. The moonlight was hitting him at such an angle as to expose the gold in his eyes behind the glasses. It gave Yamaguchi a weird tingly feeling in his chest; any other time of day, he would’ve been captivated by those eyes (unfortunately, Yamaguchi found them to be beautiful, as terrible as that made him feel), but the stark white light gave them a contrast that the daylight could not.

 

It was eerie and it was enticing, and Yamaguchi felt compelled to keep staring.

 

“I can see how badly you want to play.”

 

“It doesn’t bother me that I don’t--”

 

“Yes it does,” Tsukishima interrupted. “Don’t tell me it doesn’t, because it’s obvious.”

 

Heat started to rise in Yamaguchi’s cheeks.

 

“You don’t have to be a jerk about it,” he gulped, seeing Tsukishima furrow his brows.

 

_ “I’m trying not to be!” _

 

Tsukishima’s voice rose as he suddenly lashed out, and Yamaguchi flinched. Deafening silence fell on the area once the noise dissipated; an owl hooted nearby, and the crickets were chirping, but all Yamaguchi could hear was the sting of the words in his ears.  He’d never heard Tsukishima shout before, not even during practices when he was fired up. He quickly swallowed the panic that had been bothering him. Tsukishima, upon realizing this, frowned deeper and dropped the ball down so that he was cradling it with both of his hands. Yamaguchi was still staring; Tsukishima kept his gaze affixed to the ground, obviously taken aback by the words that had come out of his own mouth.

 

Yamaguchi realized that if he didn’t say something soon, Tsukishima would leave him here, and being alone with his thoughts was the option that he would never choose voluntarily.

 

“Toss to me, then...to help me practice receives?” Yamaguchi suggested quietly, taking a step to close the distance a little ways. He could’ve sworn he saw the ghost of a smile pass over Tsukishima’s shadowed face.

 

“Yeah...yeah, okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback is always appreciated!  
> thanks for reading thus far :-)  
> stay tuned for updates...which should be soon!


	4. smells like teen spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tsukishima, damn it, his name is Tsukishima.

It was not on purpose that Tsukishima ended up with a monumental pile of crumpled pieces of notebook paper on his desk.

 

Writing was hard. It was so tremendously hard. He’d never done that well in his writing classes in school, despite excelling at everything else. Any amount of studying proved to be futile, and he failed to ever see how it was possible to practice to get better at it. Every time he tried, the words would not present themselves in his mind like his teacher had said they would; expressing his thoughts on paper seemed stupid in the first place, but he needed to do it. Once he could get it right, that would be it. It would be done.

 

If he had the incentive, then why the hell was it so difficult?

 

There was some feeling of urgency nagging him from the back of his mind. He needed to finish. He needed to put his pen to the paper in front of him and just write what he needed to write. Some invisible force was pulling his arm away, but he resisted, because soon his parents would be home and he didn’t want to be questioned.

 

Tsukishima spaced out as the music coming from his headphones drowned his thoughts. Some words were recognizable now; English rock was something he’d become interested in over the past year, and Tsukishima had picked up terms from the lyrics that filled his brain.

 

“Focus,” he murmured to himself, curling a fist around the body of his pen.

 

_ I don’t want you to think it’s your fault. _

_ It’s my fault, and that’s all. _

_ My classmates don’t like to talk to me, even though I try my best to look interesting in school. _

_ No one wants to be my friend except Akiteru. _

_ Just because I receive good grades does not mean I am happy. _

_ Can’t you see I’m not happy? _

 

Next year, Tsukishima would start high school. He thought about this as the song playing in his ears faded away into the next one. In one year, he would be at a new school, and yet he knew the people would act the same.  _ Four-eyes. Giant.  _ Tsukishima had never let the name-calling affect him. He knew he was more intelligent and more well-rounded than any other student that teased him for the things he couldn’t help; he’d never imagine himself stooping to the level of acknowledging it. Tsukishima was a good person. He  _ knew _ that. He knew he didn’t deserve to be hated by those who made no effort to get to know him. His brother had explained it like this: the moon has a light side and a dark side. It always showed its light side, but the dark side was still there. He had told Tsukishima that the side he presented to the world was the dark side, but the light side was still there - it would just take someone brave enough to go looking for it.

 

Not being a huge fan of metaphors and subliminal insults, Tsukishima had chosen to ignore this, despite how much sense it made now.

 

He couldn’t picture anyone daring to go looking for who he really was.

 

_ Next year _ , he thought. The sound of doors opening and his parents entering the house startled him suddenly; in one careful motion, he swiped the balls of paper into the trashcan beside his desk, filling it to the brim. He looked down at the attempt he had started.

 

_ Can’t you see I’m not happy? _

 

“Kei! Come and help prepare dinner, Kei!”

 

At the sound of his mother’s voice, Tsukishima slipped his headphones off and paused his music on his phone.

 

Time to get back to living.

 

\--

  
  


Pork buns were great things. Eating them with teammates was even better.

 

As it turned out, Karasuno had started to click. Yamaguchi had noticed the dynamic change when he had been on the sidelines of the practice match with Aoba Johsai, and it didn’t take a genius to catch a glimpse of the depth that was beginning to be established. He himself had not done much thus far, but Yamaguchi was taking advantage of all the watching time he got; learning from playing was the most favorable option, but it just wasn’t realistic, so taking notes from his teammates as well as their opponents was all he could do.

 

Across the street a little ways from the  Sakanoshita convenience store was a small park with tables and benches that were currently occupied by the worn-out group of boys, still fresh with perspiration after practice.

 

Yamaguchi sat on the edge of one of the benches, cross-legged. Daichi and Suga had been kind enough as to treat the team to the food, and after insisting that the gratitude be shown through hard work during future practices, the rest of the boys had dug in, falling unusually quiet as each pork bun was devoured with a ferocity that Yamaguchi could not match. He was more on the slow side when it came to eating, especially around people. The bun in front of him sat neatly on the packaging, only two small bites apparent around the edge. Even though everyone was enveloped in their own meals or small talk, Yamaguchi couldn’t make himself eat another bite, and his eyes darted side-to-side whenever he got the feeling he was being observed. His stomach growled in protest.  _ Eat, stupid. You’re hungry. _

 

He could relax. All he needed to do was try. These were his teammates - his friends - and he needed to get over himself.

 

“You gonna eat that?”

 

Hinata stood across from Yamaguchi at the table. His eyes glanced down to the pork bun, and Yamaguchi shook his head after a moment’s hesitation.

 

“No, you can--”

 

“Thank you!” 

 

Snatching up the bun with haste, Hinata went back over to his own bench, where Kageyama looked up wistfully as he listened to Hinata’s bragging (which was quite audible from Yamaguchi’s position); Yamaguchi tried not to meet his eyes as he looked over, because he knew Kageyama would be wondering why on  _ Earth  _ he would be generous to an annoying orange jumping bean and not him. Oh well.

 

So now he became the observer. Unable to absentmindedly stare at his uneaten food anymore, Yamaguchi turned his gaze to the table where the third years sat, enjoying their pork buns along with a hearty conversation. Yamaguchi wondered what it was like to have such good friends; Daichi, Suga, and Asahi each looked so happy with each other. He guessed those types of friendships just took a lot of time to form, but then again, what did he know? 

 

Now thinking of friends, Yamaguchi reached down and pulled his bag up on the table. He felt around for his pencil inside one of the pockets and pulled it out along with his sketchbook.

 

The moon was just beginning to rise in the sky, and the glow mixed nicely with the light blue and cream color left behind by the setting sun. Flipping open to a clear page, Yamaguchi drew lazy lines of the hillside in the distance along the horizon. He had become so focused on getting the detail of the fuzzy clouds right that he hadn’t noticed the shift in weight on the table’s bench. When he looked up, Yamaguchi saw Tsukishima sitting across from him.

 

He was about to offer a greeting, except Tsukishima’s eyes were closed and he had his headphones on, so Yamaguchi would not dare utter a word. He went back to his sketch, and the realization hit him so suddenly he feared he would lose his balance and fall backwards off the bench.

 

In his hands, Yamaguchi held a pencil. His sketchbook was tilted, leaning on the table’s edge and resting on his knees. In front of him was Tsukishima Kei: oblivious with his head bowed and eyes unopened, not a frame from Yamaguchi’s imagination, and wholly incandescent in the light that came from the sky.

 

He gulped. His hands shook. He flipped to another page and began to draw.

 

First was the head shape. Yamaguchi worked fast, because who knew how long Tsukishima would stay sitting here? Why  _ was _ he sitting here in the first place? Had Yamaguchi looked lonely? Questions popped up in his mind as he sketched ears and began the hair. The conversations of the rest of the team continued from where they sat around the park, slight murmurs underneath the buzz in Yamaguchi’s brain. If he listened close enough, he could also hear the sounds of drums and guitars leaking out of Tsukishima’s headphones. That was something they had in common, then. Yamaguchi liked his music on full volume to the point of numbing his own ears, and it was obvious that Tsukishima thought the same way.

 

The eyes were going to be hard to get right. Yamaguchi wanted to do them justice. As much as he told himself time and time again he resented most everything about Tsukishima, and as often as the bullying incident crossed his mind, Yamaguchi would always find himself thinking about his eyes. Eyes showed you who someone really was, behind the bitter attitude or the sour tang of a sarcastic nature. Yamaguchi thought that Tsukishima’s eyes were not at all becoming of who he was on the outside. To his teammates, he was rude and condescending and all the things that Yamaguchi hated him for being. 

 

But his eyes…

 

Honey was the one word that came to his mind as he sat there sneaking glances from over his sketchbook. Even in the fading daylight, they melted into the color of yellow that Yamaguchi associated with pleasant things. Tsukishima was anything  _ but _ a pleasant thing. 

 

Once Yamaguchi decided that the eyes and glasses were satisfactory, he moved down to draw the nose, and lastly the mouth. When Yamaguchi looked back up, Tsukishima’s lips were slightly pursed and downturned, as if he were thinking, and Yamaguchi did his best to translate that onto the paper. With a few final lines, Yamaguchi had what he had set out looking for. He was almost tempted to hold up the drawing as to compare to the real thing.

 

“What have you been drawing, Yamaguchi?”

 

Yamaguchi leapt to his feet before he even had time to register who had spoken. There stood Suga, who eyed him with a now-concerned expression.

 

“W-What? Oh, this? Nothing! It was nothing.”  _ Wow, way to sound suspicious. _

 

“Daichi mentioned to me that you were very good at drawing,” admitted Suga, rubbing the back of his neck.

 

Yamaguchi shrugged, and then asked, “How did he know that?” 

 

As far as Yamaguchi knew, no one had ever seen his drawings, other than people in his classes who happened to be walking past his desk before he had a chance to cover his sketchbook up.

 

“He said whenever you get to the gym early before practice, you’re so involved with a drawing that you don’t notice him walking by with equipment, and I suppose he just happens to see what you’re doing.”

 

“Oh,” replied Yamaguchi, letting out a laugh that sounded a bit too nervous. “I guess I’m alright at it.” Figuring there’d be no harm in showing Suga a sketch that wasn’t of Tsukishima (which, quite honestly, was just about every page), he flipped back to the landscape sketch he’d been doing before and held it out for the other boy to see.

 

Suga grinned widely, taking the sketchbook in his hands. “It’s beautiful,” he praised, and Yamaguchi felt himself blush.

 

“Thank you, Suga-san!”

 

“Of course. You should draw me something one day, perhaps before I graduate. You’re very talented, Yamaguchi.” With a knowing smile, Suga handed back the book and returned to the other third years, who were busy attempting to cajole Nishinoya and Hinata to lower their voices as to not disturb the street’s residents.

 

The sky was going dark now. Yamaguchi figured he should get home, as his parents would most likely start calling his cell phone frivolously if he didn’t leave soon. The rest of the team would not notice, and he could see that they were all involved with themselves. Hinata, Nishinoya, Tanaka, and Kageyama tossed a volleyball around in some sort of circle, and the third years sat like parents observing their children on the playground; with a wistful look on his face, Suga turned in to Daichi, prodding him with an elbow as if to recount their own days as underclassmen. Yamaguchi looked over his shoulder. Tsukishima was in the same position, resting his forehead on his clasped hands. His glasses sat on the table by his arm - he must’ve slipped them off when Yamaguchi hadn’t been looking.

 

Yamaguchi left the park, heading down the sidewalk past the shops illuminated by small neon signs and the glow of the streetlamps. It was odd, walking alone. He found himself missing the presence of another being, but his stubbornness got the better of him and he pushed that longing aside. He knew what it meant. He knew who he wanted walking with him.

 

What were the rules for holding a grudge?

Maybe after a certain period of time, Yamaguchi would be able to look at Tsukishima and not feel sick to his stomach. To be fair, the effort that Tsukishima was putting in was very obvious; he wanted to be Yamaguchi’s friend, but normal people don’t usually assert things like “We’re friends now” or “I’m going to make you good at volleyball.” Why him? Why not someone more interesting, or better at letting go of hard feelings, or someone who also enjoyed making fun of people? Yamaguchi didn’t get why Tsukishima was so bitter to everyone. If he were nicer, certainly more people would reciprocate his exertion. 

 

Tsukishima was a weird guy. Yamaguchi heard the angel on his shoulder telling him to have sympathy, because it was apparent that Tsukishima had never even had a friend, and perhaps that explained the forwardness. However, the devil on the other shoulder reminded him of the self-hatred he had learned as a result of the years of bullying.

 

Yamaguchi had never had a friend either.  _ Funny how that works,  _ he thought. Tsukishima was the reason he had no friends, and in return, Tsukishima was trying to  _ be  _ his friend. It was all very confusing, and Yamaguchi wished he didn’t have to feel such things so strongly.

 

Thump. Thump. Thump. His feet steadily hit the pavement as Yamaguchi made his way along the street. How long had he been walking? Time seemed to pass by much slower without anyone to hold a conversation with. 

 

_ What if Tsukishima was still at the park? What if he had just fallen asleep there, and the other guys didn’t wake him up? What if he hated Yamaguchi for leaving him there, when they normally walked together? What if he hurt his ears with the prolonged exposure of all the loud music? _

 

The anxieties growing in his mind pushed him along faster. Soon enough, he ended up on his own street, his home just a block down. The night air was a bit chilly against Yamaguchi’s exposed arms. He hadn’t thought of putting his team jacket on before he left the park, and it was then that he realized he did not have his bag, where he had stuffed said jacket and his sketchbook and all of his belongings and  _ oh, crap. _

 

The sprint back to the park certainly warmed him up.

 

It was darker now, and Yamaguchi looked frantically around the bench and table where he had been sitting before leaving. Nothing. A feeling of dread settled in his throat. Someone had stolen his things. Someone had taken his bag, and his sketchbook. The sketchbook. Yamaguchi threw his arms up in frustration.

 

“Are you looking for this?”

 

Yamaguchi almost jumped about a meter into the air. Behind him stood Tsukishima, holding out his bookbag in one hand and his sketchbook in the other.

 

“Tsukki!”

 

Yamaguchi bounded forward and grabbed his things from Tsukishima’s hands. He met the other boy’s gaze and watched as a smug expression crept its way onto his face. Yamaguchi hugged his sketchbook to his chest before slipping it inside his bag.

 

“You left them sitting on the bench. I stayed here after everyone left and figured you’d realize and come back.”

 

Yamaguchi’s cheeks were suddenly very warm despite the evening breeze. “T-thank you.”

 

“Of course. You wouldn’t want to lose all those drawings, now, would you?”

 

“What do you mean by  _ that? _ ”

 

The smugness softened; the growing panic Yamaguchi hadn’t realized had been there to begin with was now a full-blown hurricane inside his mind. He had seen everything.  _ Oh my god, he had seen everything.  _ The color was surely draining from his face.

 

“Walk with me?” Tsukishima said instead, dodging the question. He started off, heading in the direction Yamaguchi had just come from. With a nod, not to anyone in particular, he followed. They walked in silence, and Tsukishima had his hands stuffed into his pockets with his headphones hanging around his neck. Yamaguchi walked in his shadow.

 

“So,” said Tsukishima after they had made it a little more than halfway from the park to Yamaguchi’s house, “I’m ‘Tsukki’ now?”

 

Yamaguchi frowned. “What?”

 

“Back at the park. You called me ‘Tsukki.’”

 

“Did I?” answered Yamaguchi. He remembered, but avoiding it now seemed like his best option if he wanted to steer clear of being teased. It had just slipped out: an honest mistake. If  _ he _ wasn’t dwelling on it, then why was Tsukki..?  _ Tsukishima, damn it, his name is Tsukishima. _

 

“I didn’t mind.”

 

“Okay.”

 

They continued in silence, and every so often Yamaguchi would look up out of the corner of his eye to see Tsukishima staring straight ahead, his face set more calm than he had ever seen. Was this what he was like, then? Was Tsukishima normally cool and relaxed in the presence of a friend? Yamaguchi could give himself the title; he guessed he had earned it, and Tsukishima clearly didn’t mind his company.

 

Once they had reached his house, Yamaguchi fell into the feeling of routine. Tsukishima acknowledged his goodbye, and in turn, replied with a monotonous “Goodnight” as he turned and headed the opposite way back down the sidewalk.

 

It wasn’t until Yamaguchi made it up to his room and opened his sketchbook that he noticed something was very,  _ very _ wrong.

 

\--

 

Tsukishima flipped on the light switch as he closed his bedroom door for the night. He threw his bag down atop his bed, sitting himself down beside it. From the pocket of his pants, he pulled the folded paper he’d stuffed there earlier. Tsukishima held it in his hands gingerly, like it could feel that it was in the wrong person’s presence; the magic behind what went into it was far beyond what Tsukishima was able to comprehend at the moment.

 

He unfolded it and let his eyes wander around the page.

 

It was him, except it wasn’t him, because there was no way he could’ve looked this beautiful if he tried. He remembered sitting there at the park, in the same position as the sketch depicted, and apparently he had been very unaware of what had been going on in front of his closed eyes.

 

Tsukishima was not a sentimental person. Why did he feel this warmth in his chest, and why was a simple combination of lines and other various pencil marks making him so damn emotional? He wasn’t emotional. This wasn’t him, and yet, he wasn’t trying hard at all to stop it.

 

He placed the torn out page from Yamaguchi’s sketchbook in the small drawer of his bedside table.Tsukishima brought his hands up to rub his eyes underneath his glasses. The thoughts swirling around in his brain were giving him a massive headache; he needed to sleep.

 

But Tsukishima doubted he’d be resting tonight, because all he saw when he closed his eyes as he lay in bed was Yamaguchi.

 

His brain willed his heart to shut up, but as good as he was at being bitter, something sweet like sugar was creeping up on him.

  
He hated it; absolutely, positively hated it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave feedback! i really appreciate it.  
> updates will be soon!  
> let me know what you think so far :-)


	5. hit me with your best shot (fire away)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over the past few weeks, Tsukishima had somewhat figured it out.

“Yamaguchi, how do you spell this in English? It doesn’t sound like it looks, does it?”

 

“How do you multiply these things? How does math even make sense to you?”

 

“Yamaguchi, is this right? Are there supposed to be four ‘p’s in a row?”

 

The classroom was vacant apart from the three boys sitting in the corner; Yamaguchi sat in a chair he had pulled up to be between the desks occupied by Hinata and Kageyama, who fired questions like spitballs in his direction. His patience was proving to be a virtue. Under the condition that Kageyama help him with his serves, Yamaguchi had agreed to tutor him after school hours (Hinata had tagged himself along with the offer, and it wasn’t like Yamaguchi could deny him, because anyone willing to learn should certainly be taught). 

 

“Look, Hinata,” Yamaguchi said, tracing his finger underneath the English word ‘attack’ and pointing to the two t’s, “I used to have trouble with this. You just have to memorize that some words use double letterings.”

 

“Okay! I understand!” Hinata scrunched his face and rubbed the eraser of his pencil over his own incorrect spelling.

 

“Kageyama, how is your quadratic formula memorization coming along?” Yamaguchi inquired, turning in the direction of the other boy, who was staring down at his paper with the ferocity of a thousand suns. Yamaguchi wondered if it were possible to set things on fire with just a look. It would certainly be a nice power to have…

 

“Er, there’s an X and it equals a B, which is negative. And then...something about plus and minus,” Kageyama answered weakly.

 

With a slight nod, Yamaguchi gave him a reassuring smile. “That’s more than you knew when we started, isn’t it? You’re making progress!”

 

Kageyama bent his head back down, and Hinata peered over Yamaguchi’s shoulders to see what he was doing. “Algebra is hard. I can see why you’re no good at it, Kageyama.” Hinata didn’t seem to be joking; his eyes were serious as Kageyama seemed to look through Yamaguchi to glare at him.

 

“Look who’s talking,  _ boke! _ You can’t even spell words. How hard is it to put letters together, anyway?”

“Mean, Kageyama, that is too mean! You’ve failed English spelling quizzes, too! I’ve seen your face when our teacher hands back your papers. You look as pale as a ghost!”

 

Kageyama stared and gripped the writing surface as if he were about to jump over the desk and start clobbering Hinata, who challenged his gaze unafraid. Yamaguchi looked back and forth nervously, unsure of how to prevent them from eventually killing each other. He supposed it wasn’t hatred, and maybe it was how they had found common ground to be friends; insulting banter might be their thing.

 

“You guys should really get back to your work. You won't get any smarter if you sit here and hurl insults at each other. You both have things you can improve on, and until your grades reflect it, neither of you have the right to call the other stupid,” Yamaguchi reasoned, looking between Hinata and Kageyama. They were cooling down, finally.  _ Phew. _

 

Both muttering under their breath about how stupid the other was, Hinata and Kageyama turned back to work on their studying. Yamaguchi sighed, turning his gaze outside the window. It was a beautiful day despite the billowing silver clouds in the sky, and part of him wished he had brought a sketchbook to draw them in. After what had happened at the park, Yamaguchi couldn’t bring himself to be so careless when it came to his drawings. If anyone else saw what filled the pages, he might as well throw himself out a window; those types of secrets weren’t meant to be shared.

 

“Am I interrupting something?”

 

Turning to look toward the doorway, Yamaguchi saw that Tsukishima was leaning a shoulder against the frame, looking over at the three other boys with a neutral expression. Yamaguchi felt no surprise at seeing him here. He’d probably overheard his conversation with Kageyama earlier, discussing when to meet. With a shrug of the shoulders, Yamaguchi replied, “No, I’m just helping these two study.”

 

Tsukishima took a step in the room, closing the door behind him. “Study? Can’t they do that on their own?”

 

“Yamaguchi is really smart!” Hinata piped, slamming his pencil down. Yamaguchi flinched. “He’s at the top of our class, Tsukishima, didn’t you know that? We need all the help we can get!”

 

Tsukishima’s face twisted like he had eaten something sour. Perhaps Yamaguchi picked up a twinge of jealousy as Hinata praised him for his class rank; it was no lie, and Yamaguchi found it humbling. He had worked fairly hard and being the best among the entire first year class was something he was extremely proud of, especially considering that it was obvious Tsukishima was working for the title as well.

 

“I  _ did _ know he’s top of the class, you idiot, I don’t need you to scream it at me,” hissed Tsukishima.

 

“Can we help you with anything?” Yamaguchi butted in. He didn’t mean for it to sound rude, and Tsukishima met his eyes with a glare. For a moment, he looked startled, as if he didn’t know the answer.

 

“Oh, no, nothing in particular.” He paused, rubbing his temple. “I guess I was just bored. I was looking to see if you wanted to practice serving.”

 

Yamaguchi blinked. “Maybe when I get done,” he said.

 

Tsukishima nodded, and then walked over to the corner to pull up another desk. He sat down abruptly next to Yamaguchi, who tensed up involuntarily before relaxing back into his seat. Yamaguchi looked over at him, and Tsukishima just folded his hands atop the writing surface, surveying him from behind his glasses. 

 

“I’ll wait,” he said, and Yamaguchi nodded in reply.

 

“Okay. Kageyama, how’s it coming along?”

 

“X is equal to negative B, plus or minus the square root of B squared minus four times A and C, which is all divided by two multiplied by A, correct?”

 

“Yes!” exclaimed Yamaguchi with a smile. “Good job. Now just keep that memorized and you should be good for your upcoming test!”

 

Hinata looked up after a few minutes and pointed to another word. “Yamaguchi, is this right?” Looking down at the paper, Yamaguchi read what looked like the word for ‘failure.’ The letters were all out of order after the first one, however. Tsukishima glanced over as well, pushing his glasses up as they slid down his nose. 

 

“F-a-i-l-u-r-e. Do you know the definition in English?” Tsukishima questioned. Hinata shook his head.

 

“In the Oxford dictionary, there’s a picture of you next to it. Check it out sometime.”

 

Yamaguchi snorted, and Hinata scrunched his nose. “What’s so funny?”

 

“Nothing, nothing,” Yamaguchi replied, recovering from Tsukishima’s comment. “You’ve got every letter mixed up. Here, let me show you…”

 

The next hour passed with continuous teasing comments from Tsukishima, and Yamaguchi found it harder and harder to resist from laughing, especially when neither Hinata nor Kageyama understood the joke. Every time, Yamaguchi would catch the satisfied smirk on Tsukishima’s face as he crossed his arms behind his head, leaning all the way back against the desk chair. Occasionally, Yamaguchi asked for his input, mostly because he wanted to take pity on Tsukishima without being too obvious (after all, whereas Yamaguchi was ranked first, Tsukishima was most certainly a close second). The sun was low in the sky when they finally decided to call it a day, and Hinata and Kageyama had never looked so thankful. Yamaguchi had had to pry Hinata off of his midsection as he had hugged him, while Tsukishima stood by and snickered at the sight.

 

Yamaguchi began to pack his things into his bag, listening as Kageyama yelled something as he and Hinata left down the hall. Tsukishima sat still in his desk, observing the sky from outside the window.

 

“You didn’t bring your sketchbook, did you?” he asked, and Yamaguchi shook his head.

 

“No. How did you know?”

 

“I guessed.”

 

Yamaguchi let out a sigh, blowing the tips of his hair away from his eyes. “And  _ I’m _ guessing that the reason you say that is because you saw.”

 

Tsukishima didn’t reply, and Yamaguchi zipped up his bag and set his hands on Tsukishima’s desk, leaning on them for support. Tsukishima looked up over the frame of his glasses, and Yamaguchi held his breath because  _ wow _ , he’d never had this sort of vantage point before: being taller than Tsukishima and being able to look  _ down  _ at him for once.

 

“You stole one of my drawings,” he whispered.

 

“Your point?” Tsukishima answered, unwavering.

 

“My _ point? _ My point is that you shouldn’t have. You can’t just look through my stuff like you did and take something I worked hard to draw!”

 

Tsukishima leaned back, away from Yamaguchi and away from his rising accusation. “Look, I’m sorry about that, but I was curious. I should have a right to look, seeing as literally all you draw is  _ me. _ ”

 

With that, Tsukishima stood, crossing his arms as Yamaguchi thought of something to say back. He couldn’t believe what had just come out of his mouth. He didn’t know whether to be threatened or angry, because Tsukishima knew that Yamaguchi was just a bit short of being obsessed with him. But that couldn’t be what he thought. Yamaguchi had no choice but to draw him and keep drawing him, but how in the world would  _ he _ be able to understand? 

 

“You don’t get it,” Yamaguchi said finally, mimicking Tsukishima by crossing his own arms over his chest. He was willing to bet it looked far less intimidating when he did it.

“What don’t I get?” Tsukishima asked, taking a few steps forward so that now Yamaguchi was at eye level with his chin. He gulped.

 

“I...I…”

 

“Hmm?” Tsukishima was getting closer and closer and Yamaguchi couldn’t think or breathe or concentrate on how to speak because his heart was threatening to explode right out of his chest and onto the ground underneath what little space existed between them. He could’ve sworn Tsukishima’s lips quivered as if he, too, were sharing Yamaguchi’s thoughts, but before anything else came from Yamaguchi’s mouth, two things happened at once.

 

As Tsukishima bent down and forward in an attempt to close any distance between their faces, Yamaguchi’s fist clenched and he swung his arm to connect with the side of Tsukishima’s face, knocking him back, making him stumble into a desk before reaching backwards to regain his balance. Time seemed to stop as his glasses fell from his nose and hit the ground, shattering the lenses with a sound that made Yamaguchi flinch.

 

They stared at each other. The only noise was the clock on the wall, ticking away with seconds that felt more like decades. Blood started to drip from Tsukishima’s nose, and Yamaguchi’s first instinct was to help him stop it, but he couldn’t move his feet; the quicksand color of Tsukishima’s eyes seemed to swallow him up like the real thing.

 

Before either of them could say anything, Yamaguchi grabbed his bag and shot out of the room as fast as he could, flinging the door wide open and sprinting down the hallway, ignoring Tsukishima calling from behind him. He barreled down the stairs and out of the school entrance doors. Tsukishima wouldn’t catch up, Yamaguchi knew, because of how slow he ran. Tsukishima knew how afraid Yamaguchi was of him, and he knew that it didn’t matter, because maybe Yamaguchi was a little bit infatuated and Tsukishima  _ knew.  _ Why was he so good at knowing things?

 

His feet led him home. Neither of his parents were present, which was good, because he was making an awful lot of noise as he slammed the doors and locked himself in his bedroom. Yamaguchi willed his breaths to slow down and his stomach to unknot itself. Throwing his bag to the ground, he allowed himself to slump down against the door, back sliding over the hard surface as his shirt ruffled and he fell to the carpeted floor.

 

Yamaguchi almost didn’t realize he was crying.

 

Damn him. Damn Tsukishima Kei and his stupid eyes and his stupid lips and his stupid face. Damn his grasp on Yamaguchi’s emotions. Damn every word that he spoke. Yamaguchi was furiously falling into contempt for Tsukishima, but the confusion that was brought on by the recent memory of how  _ close _ their faces had overrode the anger. 

 

They could’ve kissed. But why?

After tucking away the detail of Tsukishima’s face in the recesses of his mind, Yamaguchi knew a few things for certain: his lips were nice, he wouldn’t really mind kissing them, and he had no idea why such a thought would ever occur to him in the first place. Did Tsukishima feel that way about him, too? Yamaguchi buried his face in his hands, feeling the moisture on his cheeks.

 

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he repeated to himself. Yamaguchi had no more time to feel sorry for himself. He got to his feet and reached violently for the stack of sketchbooks under his bed, ripping open the covers and separating the various pages from the binding. Piles of torn paper soon covered the area around his bed; empty faces seemed to keep their nonexistent eyes trained on Yamaguchi until every last sheet was torn into pieces. 

 

He regretted it the moment he finished.

 

\--

 

It took Tsukishima a long time to get his nose to stop bleeding so profusely, and an even longer time to figure out why he had acted on such an impulse instead of thinking.

 

He had gotten home and avoided his mother, who certainly would have scolded him for dripping blood on the floor, and now he sat in his room with a towel held to his face, which hurt more than it had initially. There was a dull throbbing in his cheek that assured him of the bruising that was sure to be following sometime later. His glasses were in his pocket; the lenses were completely gone but he had picked up the frame before leaving the classroom after Yamaguchi, who had run too fast for him to even think about following.

 

Yamaguchi, who he had almost just  _ kissed _ as a result of a miswired thinking process and dumb, unknown intentions.

 

Tsukishima had no clue what had happened. One second, he was questioning him about the content of his sketchbook, and the next he was centimeters away from making those “unknown intentions” very,  _ very  _ known. 

 

Over the past few weeks, Tsukishima had somewhat figured it out.

 

He’d noticed it one day during volleyball practice, when Asahi had attempted to spike the ball through to the other side of the net; they’d been practicing in 3-on-3 teams, and Tsukishima was on the opposing side when he blocked the spike. It had stung, but he had made it work in his favor, and when he looked over to the sideline, Yamaguchi had been looking back, a smile plastered like a sticker on his face. 

 

At that moment, all Tsukishima found himself wanting to do was block.

 

Ever since he took the sketch from Yamaguchi’s sketchbook, there had been a feeling of consistent heaviness in his chest. Nothing could explain it. Tsukishima would sit through his classes and get so distracted by it that some of his teachers had called him out for daydreaming. In all honesty, he had noticed himself questioning everything, which was normal for him, but now it was different because it wasn’t about other people anymore: it was about himself.

 

He couldn’t remember what it was like to  _ not _ have Yamaguchi as a friend.

 

It was such a good feeling, even if Yamaguchi did hate him.

 

Tsukishima wanted so badly to change that. On the outside, however, there was no way to show it. It was completely plausible that Yamaguchi hadn’t forgiven him, and Tsukishima doubted that he ever would by now. Expressing feelings was a department that he had never fully tapped into, but Yamaguchi was the only one he could talk to, and it would be impossible to try now.

 

Why had he tried to do what he had just did?

 

Tsukishima cursed himself. It wasn’t like him to not think before doing. It hadn’t been in his plans to get so close or to try and eliminate the space between them, but empty classrooms must have some sort of weird twist on perception, because before he had been brutally punched, the idea of pinning Yamaguchi up against the wall and pressing their lips together had never seemed more attractive to him.

 

He wanted to puke. 

 

Maybe it had been the drawing. Maybe Tsukishima had thought that he could become the beautiful thing Yamaguchi had drawn him as. Part of him wanted so badly to appeal to him as a person who he could feel good about knowing, as he existed in Yamaguchi’s mind, but it was so hard to show who he really was under the shell of someone he’d created to block out the people that never would be able to see him like Yamaguchi did.

 

His first friend loved him but could never love him, and all Tsukishima could do was wait.

 

Wait for his goddamn nose to stop bleeding, wait for himself to get _ over  _ himself, and wait for Yamaguchi to forgive him for something he’d never felt so sorry for.

 

Pathetic.

 

Feelings were pathetic.

 

Tsukishima was pathetic.

  
Everything: pathetic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> feedback is always appreciated!  
> thanks for sticking with me so far, and sorry this update was so late; i've been super busy!  
> stay tuned for the future :-)


	6. take a sad song (and make it better)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For once in his life, Yamaguchi had taken a risk.

There was a bridge that Tsukishima had to cross every day as he made his trek to school in the mornings. It wasn’t very big or ornate, just a simple red structure that spanned over a ravine that he estimated to be around ten or twelve stories deep. A draft billowed up from below whenever he happened to peer over the edge of the steel barrier; his hair would blow back and tears would form in his eyes from the wind. The road was always vacant when he lifted himself up to sit and dangle his legs over the edge, precariously leaning his weight as far forward as he could without letting himself separate from the metal of the bridge. There was something extremely peaceful about sitting there, as he was now, with the sun just barely peeking out behind an overcast sky. Tsukishima thought of what would happen if it started to drizzle, and how he could easily slip from the moisture that would collect underneath his hands that gripped the railings.

 

His head was pounding with an ache that hadn’t dulled down overnight like he had thought it would. On his nose, he wore a bandage that only partially helped to conceal the unsightly discoloration resulting from the connection of his face and Yamaguchi’s fist. His glasses were still broken and he hadn’t been able to find his extra pair, so Tsukishima opted for walking around like a mole all day, blurred edges and unclear faces replacing the clarity he needed.

 

It was so hard not to feel pity for himself.

 

Glancing at the watch on his wrist, Tsukishima swung his legs back over to the safety of ground and heaved himself off the barrier of the bridge. As he continued his walk to school, the sun was further concealed from sight behind gray storm clouds; reaching the schoolyard and brushing past other students trying to get inside, raindrops started falling like coins on the ground, getting more intense as he finally managed to get to the interior of the school building.

 

Tsukishima trudged up the stairs to the second floor and let his feet take him to his first class of the day; when he looked inside the classroom, there was only one other student, occupying the desk in the row right next to his. Begrudgingly, Tsukishima walked in and set his bag down on the floor before sinking into the seat, stealing a glance from the corner of his eye at the thin figure beside him, the mop of ash brown hair and the splatter of freckles sending something like a jolt of familiarity through Tsukishima’s chest. Yamaguchi. Tsukishima didn’t offer a greeting, partially out of spite, but also because Yamaguchi didn’t seem to look up at him or even notice his presence at all.

 

Other students eventually filled up the room. As the teacher began her lesson, Tsukishima couldn’t help but notice Yamaguchi furiously scribbling something onto a sheet of paper. The noise of his pen scratching was certainly distracting. The teacher was speaking about some formula that Tsukishima needed to focus on, but suddenly there was a neatly folded sheet sitting atop his own notebook, and Yamaguchi drew his arm back to where he sat beside him.

 

Raising an eyebrow, Tsukishima unfolded it.

 

_ I’m sorry for punching you in the face. _

 

Tsukishima almost burst out in laughter. The hilarity of the whole situation was miniscule in reality, but he couldn’t help but think about how torn up Yamaguchi must’ve been after it had happened. After all, Tsukishima had been the one to catch him off-guard, and perhaps the punch had been warranted. He read the note over again, tracing the lines of the surprisingly neat handwriting over and over with his eyes, making sure his lack of glasses wasn’t playing tricks on what was actually written.

 

Ignoring the scraping of chalk on the blackboard, Tsukishima held his pencil and wrote back:

 

_ You had the right to punch me, although I hope you have fun trying to draw me with a large bruise covering my nose. It’s quite ghastly. Good job. _

 

He refolded the paper and placed it quickly over on Yamaguchi’s desk; Tsukishima didn’t wait and see him grab it, but heard him cough a few moments later as he read what he had written. Tsukishima went back to taking notes before the paper landed on his desk again.

 

_ Does it hurt? _

 

Tsukishima shook his head slightly, bending down to scribble a reply.

 

_ Yes. I’m also partially blind, but that’s not even the worst of it. _

 

Yamaguchi was eagerly bouncing his leg up and down when Tsukishima put the paper back on his desk, and the movement of his hands when he opened it was quick and with some sort of hunger. Tsukishima almost found it charming.

 

_ I’m sorry Tsukishima. _

 

The lines making up his name had never been so meticulously artistic; Tsukishima looked the reply up and down. It was challenging to read Yamaguchi’s handwriting, due to how small it was, but the careful structure of the pen strokes made Tsukishima wonder if Yamaguchi let his art influence every aspect of his life. Yamaguchi was, after all, an _ artist.  _ It was surprising how badly it translated into volleyball, Tsukishima considered. If his handwriting was so damn neat and orderly, then why couldn’t his serves be that way as well?

 

_ Stop apologizing.  _

 

Tsukishima wanted to say more, wanted to tell Yamaguchi that it was his fault for conflicting him, wanted to apologize himself for trying to kiss him, but he didn’t have the words to express it.

 

_ I’ll see you at practice Tsukki. _

 

With that, the bell rang, and Tsukishima watched as Yamaguchi got to his feet and whipped out of the room with his things. The note remained on Tsukishima’s desk unfolded, and he hastily shoved it into his jacket pocket, feeling it burn through to his skin with Yamaguchi’s reply. Tsukishima didn’t know what to think anymore, but the ache in his face was abruptly more noticeable than it had been all throughout class. 

 

He got up and left the room, almost walking into the wall in his haste.

 

\--

 

Hit, repeat. Hit, repeat. Hit, repeat.

 

The stinging in Yamaguchi’s fingers was pushing him to hit harder. Suga tossed another ball, hih in the air, from his side, and Yamaguchi brought his arm back and swung just forcefully enough as to send the ball flying towards the other end of the gym over the net. He would imagine an opposing player there, reaching to receive it but not being able to as the ball hit the wood floor and bounced around. Yells of encouragement came from Hinata and Nishinoya, who were frivolously trying to collect the balls he had already hit. Maybe it was his imagination, but Yamaguchi felt himself growing more comfortable with every serve.

 

Tsukishima had stood on the sideline next to Daichi, towering over the captain and observing the movements Yamaguchi made.

 

He had to keep hitting harder, because Tsukishima was watching him so closely and Yamaguchi felt sheepish whenever the ball wouldn’t float exactly how he wanted it to.

 

“Alright, Yamaguchi, take a break,” said Suga, who placed a hand on his shoulder as he backed off of the baseline. Yamaguchi nodded. As he took a seat on the hard metal bench, Kageyama moved up to take his place.

 

Practice ended after Daichi explained their schedule, and Yamaguchi left with a feeling he’d never had after playing: satisfaction.

 

Tsukishima caught up with him as he walked down the sidewalk in the direction of his house. He felt a hand tug his shoulder to turn around, and suddenly Yamaguchi was face-to-face with him.

 

“Walk with me,” he said, and Yamaguchi only moved to point a finger in the direction he’d been going, opposite of where Tsukishima wanted him to follow.

 

“But...my house is that way?”

 

“We’re not going to your house.”

 

Tsukishima’s hand slid down and gripped his arm, and now Yamaguchi let himself be pulled, stumbling at first with Tsukishima’s fast walking pace. He decided not to question it, because with most things, Yamaguchi didn’t expect an answer. Anxiety built up in his chest like a steady pressure. The road was almost barren; hardly any houses lined the sidewalk, unlike how they did around where Yamaguchi lived. There were no streetlights, and the dying light of the sun made him even more nervous as they began to cross over a ravine. Tsukishima stopped suddenly, and Yamaguchi looked around in the dim twilight to notice a bridge he hadn’t caught sight of up until now.

 

“Where are we?” he asked Tsukishima, who had let go of his arm and was now leaning against one of the steel pillars of the structure.

 

“You did well in practice today,” Tsukishima declared, and Yamaguchi didn’t even mind that his question had been ignored. Heat rose to his ears, and he thanked every god imaginable for the increasing darkness that hid the redness on his face.

 

“I--”

 

“Do you think that if one were to jump, they’d die quickly?”

 

“ _ What? _ ”

 

Yamaguchi stared as Tsukishima tilted his head to look over the barrier of the bridge and into the depths underneath. An unsettling silence fell between them; Tsukishima hadn’t managed to look back over at him since they’d stopped walking, and Yamaguchi felt compelled to force him to turn his head.

 

“Look at me,” Yamaguchi said clearly, and Tsukishima glanced over to meet his gaze. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the way his eyes looked; Yamaguchi was able to tell. “Is something wrong with you? Why did you bring me here?”

 

Tsukishima smiled, something little and unnerving. “I walk across this ravine every day on the way to school. Since starting high school, that’s all I’ve been thinking...what I asked just now.”

 

Yamaguchi shook his head as if to ward off his words. Tsukishima continued.

 

“But, I’ve noticed that it’s less frequent lately. I can’t explain it. The dread is gone, and my mind is occupied, and I wanted to show you because I think it’s because of that drawing I took.”

 

Tsukishima threw his head back and laughed. Yamaguchi couldn’t see anything funny about what he was saying, and he blinked in confusion as Tsukishima quieted down again.

 

“I taped it up on my wall,” he added, “and for some  _ reason, _ I’m happy. This is what happiness is, isn’t it?”

 

Yamaguchi remained silent. Either this was some sort of nightmare and he was actually asleep, or Tsukishima had gone insane. He didn’t know what Tsukishima wanted him to say, but he kept his eyes steady as if expecting some sort of innate response. Before he could start to form a coherent thought, however, Tsukishima spoke again, this time seeming to throw the words like knives in Yamaguchi’s direction.

 

“Will you just  _ forgive _ me already?” 

 

If Tsukishima had expected an answer before, he definitely couldn’t now. Yamaguchi felt like he was about to fall over under the intensity of the question. How was he supposed to answer to him when he couldn’t even answer to himself? There was an understanding that Yamaguchi had picked up on as their friendship developed; Tsukishima simultaneously kept his distance and pushed his limits when it came to the time he had smashed Yamaguchi’s heart and self-esteem into ten billion fragmented pieces. They had skated on thin ice for so long that it had become almost comfortable. Yamaguchi wouldn’t have minded staying like that forever, but it was always a nagging thought in the back of his mind that Tsukishima was becoming frustrated.

 

After all, Tsukishima had literally never had a friend before him.

 

Yamaguchi hadn’t either, and now he had no idea what to do, because if he said no, they’d both lose the only person they’d ever been any amount of close to.

 

If he said yes, though, he was deathly afraid of what would happen. Would Tsukishima stop being bitter? Yamaguchi couldn’t even imagine it. A world without someone as sour as him was not a world he could ever grow accustomed to.

 

So, Yamaguchi did not say anything. His feet shuffled the gravel of the worn path over the bridge and he couldn’t understand why he was doing it, but now his forehead was level with Tsukishima’s chin and he cursed himself for punching him and breaking his glasses yesterday, because Yamaguchi wanted him to be able to see his eyes clearly. He wanted him to see that there was such a complex answer to his question, and he also wondered if Tsukishima would be able to count the freckles across his cheeks if he leaned in close enough or if he had never even noticed they existed in the first place.

 

Yamaguchi had counted them himself before, and there were exactly forty-seven, but that didn’t matter after both of their eyes had closed and Yamaguchi pressed his lips against Tsukishima’s because that was  _ obviously _ what you did when you were this close to someone and they were pinned between your body and a metal beam of a damn bridge.

 

Tsukishima’s hands graced his sides gingerly, as if they were nervous that touching too hard would scare him away. Yamaguchi was standing on his tiptoes and he hoped to God that Tsukishima couldn’t notice. Why was he thinking so much? He couldn’t tell if his heart had stopped or not, so Yamaguchi finally pulled away, bringing his heels back to the ground and once again feeling the flutter of a pulse inside his chest. Tsukishima contemplated him with eyes half-lidded, as if he were exhausted, and now Yamaguchi was incredible conscious of the way his lips felt without the warmth they had just left. Come to think of it, he’d been so distracted by shutting his own brain up that he hadn’t fully realized what had just occurred.

 

Tsukishima Kei was real and he hadn’t pushed Yamaguchi away.

 

For once in his life, Yamaguchi had taken a risk.

 

Tsukishima hadn’t said anything yet. Yamaguchi couldn’t really expect him to, but he wanted desperately to hear something, anything, because his mind raced with thoughts that weren’t exactly reassuring.  _ He hates you now. He never even wanted to kiss you, you dumbass. He doesn’t like you. He’d never like you, just look at you. Now he thinks you forgave him. Why do you always confuse yourself? Have you forgiven him? Well? _

 

A soft chuckle came from Tsukishima’s mouth. Yamaguchi took another step backward, now afraid of what was coming.

 

“Yamaguchi...I like you, Yamaguchi.” It was something he said so matter-of-fact, and Yamaguchi gawked as Tsukishima started walking off with such a casual stride, but Yamaguchi did not follow after him because the air surrounding him had grown so heavy he doubted he’d be able to move his legs anyway.

 

Tsukishima’s statement buried itself into every inch of him and he feared he would never be able to shovel it out.

 

It was quite dark now, and Yamaguchi had never been so confused in his life.

 

What was it that he was feeling, as he thought about the texture of Tsukishima’s lips on his walk towards home? A word crossed his mind once or twice, but he pushed it away as forcefully as possible. It was something like Stockholm Syndrome, except Yamaguchi wasn’t shackled to a basement wall or tied up in a trunk, nor was Tsukishima some sort of kidnapper. Although, it was comparable. Yamaguchi could think about the feeling all he wanted, but coming up with an answer would be as difficult as making the decision to press Tsukishima up against a random bridge and kiss him to make himself feel better about not being able to speak.

 

Except, that decision had been nothing short of...natural.

 

Yamaguchi was scared he would be up all night because of how vivid and absolutely, positively  _ real  _ it had felt, their faces together and touching, Tsukishima’s hands like ghosts holding the fabric of Yamaguchi’s t-shirt over his sides. If he hadn’t ripped up the pages of his sketchbooks, he would be flipping through them to try and dissipate Tsukishima’s words from his head.

 

He liked him, but what did that mean?

 

You’d think after obsessing over the exact angle of someone’s jaw on paper, you’d come to know them and what they mean by what they say.  _ Not in this case, _ Yamaguchi thought.

 

He pictured his sketch taped up on Tsukishima’s wall as he finally managed to drift off to sleep once he had returned home. He pictured Tsukishima’s lips for the thousandth time, and how well he’d be able to draw them after tonight.

 

He pictured himself kissing him again, and maybe next time, he’d be able to focus.

  
_ Hah, fat chance. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaaaaand we're not even close to done yet, folks.  
> stay tuned for the future :-)  
> feedback is, as always, very appreciated.   
> let me know what you think, what you like, hate, or anything in between.  
> see you for the next chapter!


	7. hit me baby one more time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yamaguchi was laughing to himself. Tsukishima was about as puzzled as ever.

Tsukishima was not in school the next day, and Yamaguchi bit through three pencils by the time the day was over and volleyball practice had begun.

 

He had been hesitant to walk into math class first thing that morning; Yamaguchi had pictured Tsukishima sitting at his desk looking towards the door expectantly, or showing a hint of a smile upon his arrival, or something incredibly stupid and cliche and naive, but there had been nothing. Yamaguchi sat down dejectedly and beat himself up over his thoughts. It was certainly his fault that Tsukishima was absent. Why had he gone and ruined the tiny bit of friendship they’d started to cultivate? Yamaguchi found himself in some kind of daze all day, and he’d had to pinch himself during his classes in an attempt to stop himself from looking too wistful.

 

He stood in the gym now, unwilling to move his legs and too mentally exhausted to pay attention to Daichi’s commanding voice. 

 

There really wasn’t a point in practicing if he had no one to impress.

 

“Yamaguchi! Diving drills!”

 

Managing to snap out of his funk for the time being, Yamaguchi trotted over to stand beside the other first years on the side of the court; Suga, who stood down the line with the older members, glanced his direction momentarily and gave him his signature I-don’t-know-what’s-wrong-but-I-swear-I’ll-find-out-later look, which made Yamaguchi feel even more unsettled. Daichi signalled for them to start the drill, and Yamaguchi couldn’t even focus on hitting the wood floor with his body weight: something that should be so simple was taking him too long to comprehend.

 

He was cooling down when Suga put two hands on his shoulders and led him out the doors of the gym. Yamaguchi wanted to burst into tears right then. Suga’s eyes met his own and he felt instantly obliged to bow and apologize for being such an ignorant member of the team, for being distracted all during practice, and for god knows what else. Suga just smiled.

 

“Yamaguchi. You wouldn’t have any idea why Tsukishima was not here today, would you?”

 

Yamaguchi gulped. “N-no, honestly,” he answered shakily.

 

“You’re the only one he ever seems to be talking to,” Suga said, keeping his eyes trained on Yamaguchi’s own as if he were searching for lies. Yamaguchi wouldn’t dare hide the truth; these thoughts were on his own mind as well.

 

“Really?”

 

Suga nodded, and then tilted his head in confusion. “Well, yes, you haven’t noticed? He always looks annoyed at the rest of us!”

 

Managing a small smile, Yamaguchi shook his head. “That’s just who he is. I’m sure he looks like that around me.”

 

“Yamaguchi, is there anything you want to tell me?”

 

And there it was. Suga was like a mother (not Yamaguchi’s own mother, though; she never tended to pry into his life if he didn’t want her to) and the stare he was hitting Yamaguchi with made him feel weak in the knees. Was Suga-san really that attentive? Or was it all just a coincidence, and Yamaguchi was overthinking everything? Surely Suga had no clue how badly Yamaguchi wanted Tsukishima to be here, or how many times he’d thought of his lips while doing drills earlier. If he thought hard enough, he could remember how it felt to have them on his own…

 

“Yamaguchi?”

 

“Suga-san, I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t know why he isn’t here, but I can find out, if you want to know?”

 

Yamaguchi hadn’t meant to say that, and he certainly hadn’t expected Suga to grin and give him a hard slap on the back. He looked downright devious.  _ Is there anywhere close to throw up? A trashcan? Suga’s gym bag? Anything? _

“I’ll hold you to it, Yamaguchi! Here,” said Suga, reaching into the pocket of his shorts to pull out his cell phone, “put your phone number in here and I’ll text you for an update.”

 

Yamaguchi heaved a heavy sigh before reluctantly typing in the digits of his own phone number. He watched as Suga named his contact ‘Yams!’ with an emoji of a face with a halo above its head. Resisting the urge to groan and/or fall to the ground out of sheer embarrassment, Yamaguchi watched as Suga retreated back inside the gym, leaving him all by himself with a mission he never wanted to embark on in the first place.

 

_ Operation: Find Tsukki _ was a go.

 

Yamaguchi hated himself more with every step as he started on down the sidewalk.

 

\--

 

He could easily get high grades in any subject, solve extremely advanced mathematical equations, or even teach classes to younger students, but Tsukishima could not figure out why he was having such a hard time understanding what the hell was wrong with himself.

 

His parents had let him stay home from school, fortunately enough. When he looked at himself in the mirror on his bedroom wall, he could understand why. There were severe bags under his eyes as a result of no sleep the night before. The creases between his eyebrows led up to his forehead, and he couldn’t see himself as being sixteen anymore; the reflection staring him down had to be much older. If only the age he looked presented him with the wisdom that should’ve been associated with it. Tsukishima had spent the entire day searching the internet and scouring through dictionaries to try and find some sort of word to fit the definition of the feeling that sat within his body, making him ache and shiver when all he wanted to do was relax.

 

The feeling of pressure hadn’t left his mouth yet and he doubted it ever would.

 

In retrospect, Tsukishima couldn’t have seen it coming. After all,  _ he _ had been the one to try it at first, and Yamaguchi had punched him square in the face (the bruise was starting to fade, at least). He hadn’t even had time to feel nervous about it, or consider whether or not it was a good kiss.  _ Was _ it a good kiss? How the hell was he supposed to know? It wasn’t like he had anything to compare it to, but if he were to guess, Tsukishima thought it must have been disappointing. The least Yamaguchi could’ve done was wait for him to be prepared, but then it most likely wouldn't have happened at all. Poor Yamaguchi. Shaking his head, Tsukishima looked back to the screen of his laptop.

 

He typed a few words into the search engine on his home page.

 

_ how to know if you like someone _

 

He sorted through the results before backspacing and trying again.

 

_ how to know if you like-like someone _

 

Clicking on the first link, Tsukishima let his eyes scan the paragraphs of explanations. Mostly, he was doing this for himself. When he had walked home after what happened last night, he had tripped at least seven times before reaching home. His shoes hadn’t been untied, and there were no visible obstructions in his path, but every time he took a step, it shook him.

 

However, as he continued reading, he noticed that Yamaguchi did a lot of the things being described. Tsukishima felt himself blushing. For a second, he considered going into his kitchen and putting ice to his cheeks.

 

_ If you find yourself blindly agreeing with what they say, laughing at their jokes, including them in things you do just to have them close, seeking their approval, feeling nervous or excited when you see them, or anything of the sort, you have a serious crush! _

 

Tsukishima scoffed and slammed the lid of his laptop shut. Crushes were for silly schoolgirls, not for him, no sir. Tsukishima did not and would not have a crush, ever, because people were supposed to have crushes on _ him.  _ Ever since elementary school, he’d had groups of girls giggling when he walked past, and he’d found love notes scribbled on notebook paper in his locker before. It wasn’t anything new; he found it ignorant, though, to be so blindly infatuated with him without even knowing his favorite color or what music he liked. 

 

Why would anyone like him, anyway?

 

Just then, he heard something that sounded like a small tap on the glass of his bedroom window. He paused, sitting cross-legged on his floor; before he could think what it was, it came again, and Tsukishima stood to walk over and pull the curtains back.

 

Down on the ground below was Yamaguchi in his gym clothes, a handful of small pebbles held out from what Tsukishima could decipher from where he was on the second story. He looked up just as Tsukishima unbolted the window, something like shame crossing his features. Tsukishima tried so hard not to smile.

 

“What are you doing?” he called down.

 

Yamaguchi shrugged. “What does it look like?”

 

“It  _ looks _ like you’re trying to get me to throw down my hair and let you climb into my tower, but we both know that’s not why you’re here.”

 

Tsukishima could’ve sworn he saw Yamaguchi’s entire face light up red.

“Suga-san told me to find you and ask you why you weren’t at school,” insisted Yamaguchi. “I had to ask around the entire neighborhood to find your house, I hope you know that.”

 

“It’s not a large neighborhood,” Tsukishima pointed out.

 

“Oh.” Tsukishima heard Yamaguchi exhale. He continued to keep his face trained on the window.

 

“Would you like to come in?” he offered, leaning his head further out the window. Yamaguchi froze, eyes wide. He started picking at the numerous stones in his hand, and Tsukishima watched as he rolled one over between his fingers.

 

“No, it’s okay...I should probably go.”

 

“Wait.”

 

Tsukishima shut the window and pulled the curtains back. Hastily, he kicked the few piles of unclean clothes that scattered his bedroom floor to the underside of his bed; seeing as there was no other visible untidiness, he ran for the stairs and through his kitchen to the back door, from where he could see Yamaguchi nervously pacing around in the grass. Tsukishima peeked outside, suddenly feeling the weight in his stomach disintegrate as Yamaguchi hesitantly came to the door. He slid it open and let him come inside.

 

It didn’t feel awkward, like he’d thought it would have. Tsukishima bet that Yamaguchi was combusting on the inside, but if he was, he was doing an excellent job at disguising it. He gave Tsukishima a tiny nod and a smile when their eyes met, and Tsukishima brought a finger up to push his glasses further along the bridge of his nose. He didn’t want to get too close. Not yet.

 

Yamaguchi scratched the back of his neck. “Are your parents home?”

 

Tsukishima raised an eyebrow, which caused Yamaguchi to hold his hands up in defense, realizing the implication, even though Tsukishima was just messing around with him.

 

“T-that’s not what--”

 

“I know. It was funny,” Tsukishima admitted, “and no, they aren’t. They’re with my brother at his apartment.”

 

“You have a brother?”

 

Tsukishima nodded, and gestured for Yamaguchi to follow him through the kitchen to the hallway by the stairs. Along the wall were framed pictures of his family; all outdated, they showcased Tsukishima in elementary school and Akiteru at his various graduations. Tsukishima stopped in front of one he liked the most. It was him and his brother at Christmas time some years ago, sitting on a park bench while snow covered everything around them. Tsukishima was wearing a puffy coat that was so obviously a hand-me-down it hurt. Akiteru was poking his cheek, frozen laughter apparent through the glass of the picture frame.

 

Yamaguchi was looking as well, something discernable on his face.

 

“You two look alike,” he stated.

 

“I don’t see it. Come on,” muttered Tsukishima. Without thinking, he grabbed ahold of Yamaguchi’s forearm, leading him up the staircase. The hall upstairs was not very long. Tsukishima pushed open the door to his room and let Yamaguchi’s arm fall from his grasp, and the other boy mocked a hurt expression, rubbing the spot on his arm where Tsukishima had gripped.

 

“Unnecessary,” Yamaguchi grumbled.

 

Tsukishima ran both hands through his hair before sitting down on the edge of his bed. He watched as Yamaguchi looked around his room with a sort of casual curiosity. There were posters everywhere, displaying all kinds of things Tsukishima had grown and lost interest in over time. Cinema posters for the Jurassic Park franchise, band posters advertising concerts and festivals he’d never been to, and even a few from various national volleyball tournaments. His brother had given them to him, and Tsukishima had bluffed when he’d told him he would never hang them up. Yamaguchi took a step towards his bookshelf on the opposite wall; Tsukishima was proud of how consistently organized he kept it. It was mostly comic books and manga, with his dictionaries hiding in the bottom left corner. 

 

“Having fun exploring?” Tsukishima prodded, causing Yamaguchi to jump, as if he had forgotten he wasn’t the only one in the room. He looked back over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes in a way that wasn’t hostile but still wary. In that moment, Tsukishima wanted to grab him and shake him and make him talk, make him explain why he kept crawling his way back into his brain and why he couldn’t get rid of him, but he couldn’t do that, because that wasn’t what you did when you were meant to be getting along.  _ A different approach, Kei. Be gentle for once. _

 

“You know,” said Tsukishima, ruffling his hair again, “you said Suga-san wanted to know why I skipped today.”

 

“Oh, right,” Yamaguchi answered softly. He had pulled a graphic novel from the shelf and was observing the cover, keeping a finger in the spot it had come from. “Are you sick or something?” Tsukishima could tell he was trying hard not to sound concerned, but a small part of him appreciated it; no matter how much hatred Yamaguchi still held for him, Tsukishima found it absolutely  _ divine _ that he couldn’t stop caring.

 

“I think you and I both know why I avoided school today.”

 

Yamaguchi slid the book back into its spot on the shelf and turned to face Tsukishima. He hoped the smugness wasn’t too apparent, or else he’d have Yamaguchi swooning all over the place. Messing with him was fun. Messing with him was undeniably a  _ very _ bad coping mechanism.

 

“Oh?” Yamaguchi crossed his arms over his chest as if to challenge his words. Tsukishima almost laughed out loud. He was so small and yet so probing in the way his eyes stared attentively forward. Yamaguchi was not intimidating in the slightest, and the feeling in Tsukishima’s chest made it apparent to him just how far gone he was.

 

“You’re cute when you try to look brave.” 

 

Tsukishima didn’t realize the words had fallen from his brain and out of his mouth. Yamaguchi dropped his arms and looked even more uncomfortable than he had before, although the redness of his ears contradicted it. Silently cursing himself, Tsukishima shook his head slightly as if to reprimand himself.

 

“I think I should go. My parents will--”

 

“Yamaguchi, why do you think you still hate me?”

 

Silence. Yamaguchi shrugged his shoulders forward, a habit of his that Tsukishima had picked up on a long time ago. He seemed to do it under confrontation; Tsukishima would say something he didn’t agree with and he’d try and box himself in, as if trying to avoid his words altogether.

 

“I don’t hate you, Tsukishima.”

 

Getting to his feet was probably a bad idea, considering the height difference and the potential for scaring him, so Tsukishima put a hand down beside his spot on the bed. Yamaguchi sat, obviously putting a great deal of cover space between them.

 

“This feels so damn dramatic,” said Tsukishima. Yamaguchi didn’t seem to react. “Whenever I want a simple answer, I feel like you blow it out of proportion.”

 

“I don’t get what you mean.”

 

He sighed.  _ Out with it already. _ “Yamaguchi, it was a mistake. It was a mistake to keep walking and it was a mistake that it took so long to find you and apologize. It was a mistake, but it was so long ago. We were, what, eight? Nine? Don’t you think I feel sorry enough?”

 

Yamaguchi was laughing to himself. Tsukishima was about as puzzled as ever.

 

“I’ve never had a single friend in my entire life,” said Yamaguchi, still with a poisonous smile on his face. “I never played games on the playground with anyone, or knew how it felt to have sleepovers or birthday parties. It made me who I am right now, a huge ball of anxiety.” He held his arms up in a circle shape as if to illustrate what he was saying. Tsukishima just sat and listened.

 

“I’m not good with emotion. I’m too sensitive and my own mother has certainly called me a crybaby. When I first saw you on the first day of high school, it was like getting hit by a car. All the drawings I did, and all the hostility I felt for someone I didn’t even know, it was suddenly very real, and I didn’t know how to react. Should I hate you? Should I try and not care? Once I joined the volleyball team and you were there as well, I figured it would be best to let it go, and believe me, I’m trying. The other day, after the whole face-punching incident, I ripped up every sketch without a face. At first I regretted it, but now I can draw you because I know you, not because I don’t.”

 

Yamaguchi paused to collect himself. The smile was gone, and Tsukishima was afraid to interrupt. The truth was stinging like antiseptic on a cut; it was bleeding, but it was good, because now Tsukishima would be able to understand. That’s all he’d been looking forward to.

 

“Every time I look at you,” Yamaguchi started, “it hurts, but I don’t want it to. I can’t let it go.”

 

He was shaking his head in opposition to his own words. Tsukishima was at a loss. If he were to say anything without care, it would send Yamaguchi running, which was not the ideal outcome. But what was there to say?  _ Oh, it’s okay that you’ll perpetually hate my guts when I’m over here yearning for any form of human contact.  _ He scolded himself for being so bad with empathetic feelings.

 

“What happened last night was not good,” said Yamaguchi, and suddenly Tsukishima felt a pang of unease. Not good? It had been the best thing to ever happen in all his sixteen years of life...what did he mean by  _ not good? _

 

“I...I shouldn’t have done it. I don’t want you to feel bad about it. It was my fault.”

 

“Who said I felt bad about it?” Tsukishima interjected finally.

 

“Isn’t that why you were avoiding me today?”

 

Resisting the urge to cringe, Tsukishima rubbed his knees with his hands. “I spent approximately twelve hours today researching what a  _ crush _ is. How fucking pathetic is that?” He said it with a smile, but underneath it, Tsukishima didn't doubt its truth.

 

“I get what you mean when you say you’ve never understood friendship.” Yamaguchi tilted his head in confusion as Tsukishima got to his feet to pace the floor in front of his bed. “I’d gone my entire life without any interpersonal connection outside of my family, and the second I think I find a person I like, they turn out to despise me. Don’t worry, Yamaguchi, I totally get it.”

 

“I don’t--”

“I know,” Tsukishima said, holding up his hands. “You don’t technically despise me. But you don’t like me either, and you know it.”

 

Yamaguchi tangled his fingers in the hair that fell forward over his eyebrows. Tsukishima wanted to hold himself back, but now that he knew how Yamaguchi felt, he couldn’t help but feel betrayed. He knew he shouldn’t. It wasn’t his place to feel something so strongly. Yamaguchi let his hands fall from his hair as he looked up, not meeting Tsukishima’s eyes, but instead going to the space above the headboard of his bed. A sheet of drawing paper was held up with four pieces of tape, crossed diagonally over each corner. Yamaguchi got to his feet and took a step to examine it more closely. He put a finger to the hazy pencil lines, recognizing them as his own, and Tsukishima crossed his arms and watched.

 

“You weren’t lying when you told me you taped it on your wall,” he said, and Tsukishima nodded.

 

“It’s a good drawing,” he admitted to Yamaguchi, who turned to face him with sheepish pride etched on his face.

 

They stared at each other. Tsukishima felt something fall in his stomach.

 

“I think I should go,” Yamaguchi said, after what seemed like years.

 

“I’ll walk you home.”

 

They passed through the streets in comfortable silence, as usual. The sky was dipped like an easter egg in blue and pink as the sun made its descent. For quite a while, Tsukishima considered taking hold of Yamaguchi’s hand. As they walked, he felt their knuckles brush at least a few times, and it sent jolts up into his head that made him more alert of every step he was taking. He hoped the same train of thought was running through Yamaguchi’s mind; if he were to bet, Tsukishima would definitely bet in favor of that hope. The sidewalk curved and the familiar stretch in front of Yamaguchi’s house appeared. Tsukishima intentionally slowed his pace, but Yamaguchi continued on, shrugging the slipping strap of his bookbag back into place.

 

They stopped in front of the walkway leading through Yamaguchi’s front yard. With a soft smile, Yamaguchi met Tsukishima’s gaze with warmer eyes, shining amber that vaguely reminded him of many, many good things all at once. It was good. Everything was  _ good. _

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow..?” Yamaguchi said it like he was uncertain. Tsukishima nodded, not breaking to smile or to look affected in any way.

 

“Have a good night, Yamaguchi.”

 

With a slight wave, Tsukishima turned and started walking in the direction of home once more. He hadn’t even made it to the end of the street before he heard the _ thump  _ of Yamaguchi’s bag hitting the ground behind him and hurried steps in his direction. Tsukishima had barely turned around before Yamaguchi came knocking into him, two hands reaching up to grasp his shoulders. Closing his eyes, Tsukishima let Yamaguchi press their lips together, and he allowed his hands to move where they were comfortable, resting easily right above Yamaguchi’s hips. 

 

This time, he was even more taken aback, but at least he could focus.

 

_ We’re in public, _ Yamaguchi was thinking.  _ In broad daylight. I’m kissing him. He isn’t running. Oh my god, what have I done? I’m kissing him and I think he’s kissing back. I should pull away. I don’t want to forget how it feels. I need to stop surprising him because he probably doesn’t appreciate it. Then why is he kissing back, you idiot? Holy shit, I’m kissing him again. _

 

Yamaguchi let his hands fall from Tsukishima’s shoulders as he fell back on his heels. Looking up to Tsukishima’s face, he saw something completely new. The corners of his mouth were tugged ever so slightly into a smile, and he blinked his eyes open before drawing his own arms back to his sides. He didn’t offer any other goodbye before continuing to walk away. Yamaguchi brought his fingers up to brush over his own lips.

 

Something unsettling was brewing in his mind. 

 

He couldn’t keep doing this, not when he was still so confused. Yamaguchi knew he couldn’t just let his heart flop all over the place when it came to living in the moment. Forgiveness was not achieved by putting your mouth to someone else’s in the hopes of erasing enmity. 

 

But damn, did it feel good.

 

Yamaguchi walked back through his yard and sat on the steps leading to his front door. From his pocket, he felt his phone buzz, and he took it out to read the text on the screen. He recognized Suga’s number.

 

**hey yamaguchi, is everything good with tsukishima? is he alright?**

 

Yamaguchi smiled, typing a reply.

 

**yeah. no worries.**

 

He clicked on an emoji of a blushing smiley face and hit send, hoping that Suga wouldn’t think anything suggestive, and then almost instantly his reply came in the form of a winking face and a thumbs up. Yamaguchi groaned and shoved his phone back in his pocket before going inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and... so does it for this chapter!  
> let me know what you think so far; i love getting feedback! tell me what you like, hate, or anything in between.  
> stay tuned for future updates,  
> and as always, thanks for reading and sticking with me! :-)


	8. we didn't start the fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yamaguchi was opening up. Tsukishima was ecstatic.

Yamaguchi was probably dying.

 

A migraine raged at the front of his head, making tiny specks of light flash over his eyesight (whenever he could manage to blink his eyelids open). Additionally, piles of used tissues were strewn about his bed atop where he lay, arms tangled behind his head and covers pulled up past his neck. He sniffled. 

 

It had been around two weeks since his confession to Tsukishima.

 

_ Confession. What is this, a soap opera? _

 

Being sick was one thing Yamaguchi both hated and enjoyed. For one, he got to lay in bed all day, doing nothing but sleeping and drawing and whatever else he wanted to do. He didn’t have to go to school or practice, which would surely put him behind, but it was good to take a break sometime. However, whenever he thought of all the homework he was missing, even though he’d only been absent one day, it made his anxiety flare up to no end. It wasn’t like he could do much; Yamaguchi hadn’t moved from this position since getting up earlier in the morning to throw up all the contents of his stomach because of how high his fever had been. Even after protesting, his mother had made him get back in bed and stay there.

 

He rolled over on his side to check the time from the alarm clock on his bedside table. Classes would surely be on pause for lunch break right about now. Just as the thought crossed his mind, the screen of his phone lit up, and he hesitated before picking it up off the table to check it.

 

A text from a number he probably shouldn’t have memorized already.

 

**Are you alright?**

 

Tsukishima was apparently very big on utilizing correct grammar and punctuation in texts, which made Yamaguchi laugh for a reason he couldn’t explain. Along with the slight giggle came a coughing fit that left him near tears. He typed back a reply, struggling to hit the characters on his keyboard through his bleary vision.

 

**yeah i think so just have the flu or smthn.**

 

Yamaguchi hit send and almost immediately, he saw Tsukishima typing.

 

**That sucks.**

 

_ Well no shit, Sherlock _ , he wanted to type back. Instead, he locked his phone and rolled his eyes back to stare at the ceiling. Small glowing star stickers were scattered around over his bed. It calmed him; whenever Yamaguchi had had a crappy day when he was younger, he’d come home and sit in the dark to look at the fake constellations. Now it seemed childish, but with his curtains drawn and the lights off in his room, they were able to show up, forming clusters he hadn’t paid any attention to in ages. Yamaguchi wondered when the last time he’d looked at the actual stars was. The concept of there being infinite space in the sky filled with equally infinite numbers of stars freaked him out, but it was nice to look at nonetheless. He added ‘stargazing’ to his mental list of things to do.

 

Yamaguchi felt his phone buzz again.

 

**Pick up.**

 

He didn’t even have time to react before his ringtone sounded and a blank contact picture popped up on his screen. Holding a finger above the answer button, Yamaguchi shook his head and pressed it, bringing it up to his ear.

 

“Hello?” Yamaguchi said weakly. Hearing his own voice was painful. It was raspy and gross, just like how his throat felt.

 

“Yamaguchi?” Tsukishima said, slightly hurriedly. 

 

“Obviously.”

 

An awkward cough. More awkward throat clearing. Yamaguchi wondered how one single person could be as awkward as Tsukishima.  _ Awkward-shima. _ Yamaguchi tried not to laugh at his own joke.

 

“How are you?”

 

“I told you I was okay.”

 

“You don’t sound very okay. When’s the funeral?”

 

Yamaguchi smiled. “Very funny. I’m not dead, you asshole.”

 

“But you are dying, correct? That’s what it sounds like to me,” Tsukishima concluded. Yamaguchi snorted, which caused an even stronger coughing fit than before. He was almost positive his lungs were about to explode out of his chest. Tsukishima stayed quiet on the other side of the call.

 

“Why...why did you call me?” Yamaguchi was able to say after about a minute of heaving.

 

“It’s lunchtime,” said Tsukishima, as if it were obvious.

 

“That doesn’t explain why you felt the need to make me answer my phone when I’m  _ clearly  _ unable to communicate without sounding like the Grim Reaper.”

Yamaguchi pictured the scrunched-up look that was probably evident on Tsukishima’s face. It didn’t happen often, but he would sometimes pose a statement that caught him off-guard, and it was comical to see him think so hard. Tsukishima had a habit of overthinking, but not in the exasperatingly anxious way that plagued Yamaguchi. Whereas Yamaguchi did it because his brain told him the world was ending, Tsukishima did it because it was who he was: a cynical mind that needed logical answers out of everything just so that he could say he knew something.

 

“I don’t know,” Tsukishima admitted finally. “You’re not here, and usually you are, so something felt off.”

 

“So...you’re saying you miss me?” Yamaguchi teased. Tsukishima was surely annoyed, but Yamaguchi didn’t care. He had the upper hand in their...odd relationship, whatever it was, although acknowledging this fact was most likely not ethical in any sense.  _ Mess with him because he won’t let go.  _ It was a surprisingly fun state of mind.

 

“Technically, yes. I guess you could put it that way.” Tsukishima sighed. “I don’t know why I thought this was a good idea.”

 

Yamaguchi raised an eyebrow. “Why not?”

 

“I thought that by calling you, it would make me look like less of a loser. All these other students are giving me looks of pity because I’m by myself.”

 

Making himself take Tsukishima seriously, Yamaguchi blew out through his mouth as a way to keep himself from laughing. The two of them sat together every day for lunch under a tree in one of the courtyards of the school building. As he thought about Tsukishima all alone, sitting in their usual spot in the grass, drinking from his water bottle with a sullen expression as people walked by, Yamaguchi found it harder and harder to keep from grinning.

 

“Suck it up, you big baby. I’ll be at school tomorrow,” he added sincerely.

 

“I could come over after practice to give you your assignments from today, if you’d like,” said Tsukishima.

 

Yamaguchi thought for a moment, then shook his head distractedly, erasing the image of Tsukishima at his doorstep, hair touched with sweat after finishing at volleyball practice.

 

“No, it’s okay, I don’t think you’d want to get sick.”

 

“I don’t mind.” His voice was suddenly a lot softer, and Yamaguchi knew Tsukishima must’ve also realized this, but he didn’t say anything, so Yamaguchi sighed in defeat.

 

“I swear you must enjoy driving me crazy, Tsukki. I promise I don’t usually cave this easily!”

“Don’t raise your voice,” crowed Tsukishima, and Yamaguchi cursed under his breath for being so entranced by nothing but the sound of his words. He rolled his eyes.

 

“I’m hanging up now. I feel like crap,” said Yamaguchi, groaning a bit. His head ached more than ever. Part of him wanted to keep talking, but lunch would be over soon and Tsukishima would have to leave anyway.

 

“Okay. I’ll be over later. Take care of yourself.”

 

With that, Tsukishima hung up and Yamaguchi was left holding his phone in his hands, staring at the screen until it fell dark.

 

What a weird feeling it was, knowing how much someone liked you. Yamaguchi felt the urge to sneeze and he reached for a clean tissue from one of the boxes near him. He racked his brain for things to do; sleeping didn’t seem to be an option now that his mind was fully active with various thoughts, most of them concerning Tsukishima and if he should make him wear a hazmat suit later when he came over. Perhaps Tsukishima truly did not care about his own well-being. Making Yamaguchi happy was his main priority, and the fact that Yamaguchi was aware of it just made him want to try harder.

 

It irked him slightly, knowing how hard it would be for him to reciprocate those feelings, and yet Yamaguchi couldn’t help but let it ease his mind and heart at the same time.

 

Maybe one day he’d get there.

 

For now though, Yamaguchi would draw. He reached down to the floor beside his bed, feeling around for the sketchbook he was currently working out of. After tearing up all the pages of his other ones, he’d gone and bought a new one. It was smaller and contained thicker paper, but he found it to be perfect for pencil drawings and the occasional watercolor. Using paints wasn’t something he’d practiced with all that often. Might as well start now. Yamaguchi cautiously positioned himself on the edge of his bed, ignoring the aching of his limbs that came with illness. He coughed, letting himself get used to the readjustment, and then stood to walk over to his desk. Plopping himself down in his desk chair, he placed his sketchbook on the writing surface and flipped it open to a page he’d been doing before he’d fallen asleep last night.

 

It was simple. Tsukishima had headphones on and tiny music notes were leaking out from beside his covered ears. The cuteness of it all made Yamaguchi bite his lip. Coloring it would be difficult for him, he knew. He didn’t want to mess it all up.

 

There was a small water cup already sitting in the corner of his desk, and his palette of watercolors sat next to it. Another cup containing brushes of various sizes were on his left-hand side; he reached for the smallest and thinnest one and prepared himself. He would start with the hair. The light straw color he was familiar with would be easy to emulate; watered-down yellow glided across his pencil marks as he flicked the brush to stain his sketch. It looked alright. Pale colors were what he liked the best; it made his lines even more hazy, which helped to make it feel real. Tsukishima was hazy, anyway. Looking at him made Yamaguchi feel melted on the inside, and he supposed it fit to have no sharp edges or harsh lines combined with soft colors.

 

He mixed the yellow with a sky blue and got a virginal green that reminded him of the succulents that sat along the ledge of his window. Tsukishima looked nice in green. Yamaguchi blotted the color onto the space that created the hoodie he was wearing and admired it, blending up to the markings his pencil had already made. He dipped his brush into the cup filled with water and watched the leftover color dissipate. Then, using burnt sienna, he filled in the white of Tsukishima’s skin, making sure to use a large majority of water to lighten the darkness of the brownish paint. His art seemed to glow. Yamaguchi had impressed himself again. Finishing with the eyes, which he carefully dotted with gold, Yamaguchi set the brush into the water cup and stared down at the sketchbook page, lifting it slightly to make sure it hadn’t bled through. It was beautiful, and suddenly Yamaguchi couldn’t wait to see Tsukishima. He sniffled, rubbing under his nose with the back of his hand.

 

Practice couldn’t end fast enough.

 

\--

 

There were two things that Tsukishima noticed when he walked up to the front of Yamaguchi’s house.

 

One: all the lights inside were off.

 

Two: he could hear music coming from the back garden.

 

Practice had gone on for longer than he had expected. By the time Daichi had let everyone leave after ranting about ‘attitude problems,’ the sky had changed from afternoon blue to navy dusk, and the sun had disappeared and given way to stars. That was something Tsukishima had always admired about the town of Torono; the sky never ceased to shine at night, unbothered by pollution or lights from the city. Now it was fairly dark, and Tsukishima wondered as he stood on Yamaguchi’s porch why there were no lights illuminating the house. The sounds of classical music were still drifting from the path leading around the side of the structure, causing the curiosity in Tsukishima to erupt out of nowhere. With him, he carried a folder filled with worksheets and assignments for Yamaguchi, as well as a thermos that warmed his hands with heat from the tea that he’d brewed inside of it. Tsukishima had made a quick stop at his own home before coming over, and his mother had recommended he give the thermos to Yamaguchi in the hopes it might get rid of his sore throat. Tsukishima wished it had been his own idea.

 

He decided to see where the source of the soft piano he could hear was coming from. Tsukishima left the porch and followed the narrow concrete walkway to the rear of Yamaguchi’s house. It was only getting darker, but the music was growing in volume, and Tsukishima stopped in his tracks when he noticed where it was coming from as he made it around the house to the garden.

 

Yamaguchi was stargazing. This boy was  _ actually _ stargazing.

 

He was on his back, laying on some sort of quilt, with an oversized jacket on and a beanie pulled over his hair. Tsukishima could see he was wearing slippers on his feet. There was a tissue box sitting beside him, as well as his phone, which was playing a piano piece that sounded vaguely familiar. The moon was out now, and as Tsukishima stayed in the shadows, Yamaguchi (despite being sick and ghastly pale) was positively shining. He almost dropped the folder he was carrying, but instead, he cleared his throat and watched as Yamaguchi sat bolt upright, relaxing only when Tsukishima stepped towards him so he could see his face.

 

“What are you doing out here? You’re sick,” Tsukishima scolded, kneeling down to sit across from Yamaguchi on his quilt. The other boy just shrugged. His face was almost colorless, exposing the freckles on his cheeks even more so than usual.

 

“It’s a nice night tonight, can’t you see?” Yamaguchi gestured to the sky with one hand, jacket sleeve pooling on his arm before he let it fall to his side. “What’s that?”

 

Tsukishima held out the folder. “Assignments from your classes. Oh, and also,” Tsukishima set down the folder and placed the thermos in front of Yamaguchi, “some tea. For your throat. It should help.”

 

“Thank you,” answered Yamaguchi quietly, picking up the thermos in his hands, wrapping his fingers around it and holding it close to his chest.

 

“Are you cold?” Tsukishima asked.

 

With a nod, Yamaguchi opened his mouth to reply, but sneezed into the corner of his elbow instead. Tsukishima reached to hand him a tissue out of impulse. Nodding in recognition, Yamaguchi accepted it.

 

“Absolutely freezing,” he said, wiping his nose clean. 

 

“You shouldn’t be out here,” prodded Tsukishima, shaking his head profusely. “You’re going to get even more sick, you idiot.”

 

Yamaguchi just smiled. “Oh, I’m sorry. That means you’d have to eat lunch alone again. I’ve been so careless!” He threw his head back as he laughed. It echoed off the surrounding trees. Tsukishima had never found loud laughter enticing, but Yamaguchi was changing his mind.

 

Yamaguchi was opening up. Tsukishima was ecstatic. 

 

“Is this Beethoven?” Tsukishima listened closely to the drone of the piano, the melody waltzing through his ears. It was heavy and light at the same time, and Tsukishima couldn’t decide if it fit the mood or not.

 

“Chopin. Nocturne in E Flat Major,” said Yamaguchi.

 

“I didn’t know you were into classical music.”

 

“It’s calming. It doesn’t distract you, you know?” Yamaguchi looked up to the sky once again, and Tsukishima did as well, letting the stars overtake his vision. “Some pieces just enhance what’s happening around you. That’s how all your life should be, I think. Music playing along with it.”

 

“Doesn’t it get boring?” Tsukishima asked genuinely, bringing his gaze back to Yamaguchi, who still paid him no mind. “There are no lyrics. No chorus, no verses, just straight accompaniment.”

 

“It tells a story. For example,” Yamaguchi began, finally meeting Tsukishima’s eyes, “this piece makes me think of walking around in zero gravity, nothing to hold me down. Thus, it’s perfectly appropriate for this moment.” His voice trailed off; Tsukishima tried not to stare at the reflection of the moon in Yamaguchi’s eyes. He bit down on his lip, praying that Yamaguchi wouldn’t notice or look his way, because right now he was beautiful and Tsukishima wanted nothing more than to keep staring. Attractiveness was subjective, and Tsukishima had a thing for attractive people. Yamaguchi wasn’t the most good-looking person on Earth, but sitting here across from him under a sky filled with trillions of stars certainly made it seem that way. All of a sudden, an urge overtook him and he opened his mouth before he could fully comprehend it.

 

“Yamaguchi, I have a question.”

 

“Shoot.”

 

“Is it okay if I kiss you?”

 

Yamaguchi stared back across to him, and he looked so surprised that Tsukishima considered getting up and forgetting he’d even asked.

 

“Why?” He asked, a tiny bit of color appearing on the apples of his cheeks.

 

“I’m...I’m not exactly sure.”

 

“I don’t want you to get sick, Tsukki.”

 

“Is it okay? Just tell me. Yes or no.”

 

Yamaguchi blinked and then nodded hesitantly. Tsukishima was suddenly very aware of his own body: the way his heart beat, the expanse of his lungs as he breathed, the twitch of his fingers. He moved closer to Yamaguchi; they were both cross-legged on the quilt, which made it a bit awkward.

 

Yamaguchi reached forward and Tsukishima flinched, thinking the sudden movement was going to yield another punch to the face. Instead, he felt Yamaguchi gently lift his glasses away from his eyes, setting them down beside him. Tsukishima blinked, adjusting to the change.

 

“Why did you--”

 

“I’m sick. I look horrendous right now. Plus, it makes it easier to...y’know…”

 

Tsukishima understood. This time, things were different, and he didn’t know why but he found himself thinking about what to do. The other two times had happened so quickly that Tsukishima hadn’t thought about how to position himself, or when to close his eyes, because Yamaguchi had initiated and Tsukishima had been dead weight. Despite the blurriness, Tsukishima was close enough to Yamaguchi’s face to physically feel the grin that spread from the corners of his mouth. A soft laugh escaped through his teeth.

 

“You dummy, you don’t even know how to do it.”

 

Tsukishima lifted his hands and on a whim grabbed ahold of Yamaguchi’s. They were cold and clammy but somehow, it felt nice. With anyone else, Tsukishima would withdraw in disgust. He laced their fingers together, feeling the boniness of Yamaguchi’s fingers between his own.

 

“Shut up,” he breathed back, letting himself lean forward until their foreheads were pressed together. Tsukishima tilted his head and brought himself to kiss Yamaguchi like it was something he’d done a billion times. Every centimeter of skin that touched was on fire; Tsukishima couldn’t tell if it was Yamaguchi’s fever or if it was because of how close they were, touching everywhere that wasn’t covered. There was a different piano piece playing now, Tsukishima took note. He knew this one. Clair de Lune by Debussy. With every note, he was more aware of the warmth of Yamaguchi’s lips and the feeling of his hands; Tsukishima held them tighter and pulled Yamaguchi closer, desperately clinging to the hope of convincing him he didn’t  _ give _ a shit if he were gross and sick. All he cared about was making him realize that he knew he was a crappy person for not helping him, for not apologizing sooner, for not being there.

 

Tsukishima would keep kissing him until he opened his damn eyes and saw that holding a grudge shouldn’t be  _ possible _ when you had piano music playing and stars lighting up the sky above you and there was a person who was captivated with every aspect of you, every drawing, every freckle that splattered your face, asking you to kiss you, because they both deserved to be happy. Tsukishima wanted to be happy and he could only be happy if Yamaguchi was, too.

 

Was staying mad at him making Yamaguchi happy?

 

The thought disturbed Tsukishima and he pulled away, coming down from the high. Yamaguchi opened his eyes slowly, taking the time to observe the look on Tsukishima’s face. His own brows were furrowed together as he frowned, picking his glasses up and placing them back on his face.

 

“Are you okay?” Yamaguchi’s voice was gritty, and Tsukishima found it strangely appealing. He shook his head. Clair de Lune faded away into the next piece, and Tsukishima couldn’t recognize it.

 

He got to his feet, stepping off the quilt. With tired eyes, Yamaguchi looked up at him, lips slightly swollen. It was almost painful to resist sitting back down and pulling him close once more, maybe to kiss along the soft curve of his jaw to his neck, flush with an elevated temperature. 

 

“Go inside, Yamaguchi. Drink the tea.” 

 

Tsukishima started walking away. He didn’t want to look back. He didn’t want to see how Yamaguchi turned his head to look after him, jacket sleeves covering his hands as he pressed them to his cheeks, dumbfounded as to everything Tsukishima was thinking of at that very moment.

 

He headed home, trying to find a reason to regret kissing him, but it wasn’t possible. Even as Tsukishima crossed over the ravine on the way, he could not find one reason why he shouldn’t have done what he did. It bothered him that another person could make him feel such unwarranted emotions; in the past, it had only been  _ himself _ being the one to torture himself.

 

Tsukishima only hoped that Yamaguchi never stopped drawing him, or surprising him, or even sucking at volleyball, because Tsukishima wanted to stick around in his mind for as long as he possibly could.

 

_ How do you break down a grudge? _

 

Tsukishima would certainly find a way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor tsukki.  
> that does it for this chapter!  
> let me know what you think; feedback is always appreciated, whether you love it or hate it :-)  
> stay tuned for future updates aaaaaand as always, thanks for reading so far!


	9. come as you are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Perhaps Tsukishima was doing something good in trying to get Yamaguchi out of his head.

Tsukishima didn’t look up when Yamaguchi sat down in his desk the next morning. 

 

Hunched over, he was scribbling unintelligible things down the margin of his notebook. Yamaguchi didn’t want to pry, but the lack of even a passing glance sat uneasy in the pit of his stomach. Would he say anything? Of course not. His feet tapped the floor as if he were impatient; what was he waiting for? Tsukishima was his friend, so there shouldn’t be a problem with offering a greeting.

 

“Hi,” murmured Yamaguchi. His voice was still slightly husky from being sick, but he’d like to think that the tea had done something to help his throat.

 

Tsukishima ignored him.

 

Yamaguchi was going to start to panic any second now. Sweat formed on the palms of his hands, unrelenting in the way it was letting him know something was probably wrong and it might be his fault. What did he  _ do? _ Thinking back to last night...oh, last night. The fever in his head had prevented him from being fully aware of everything that had taken place, but he certainly remembered Tsukishima grasping his hands and drawing him in, sending every thought in his mind flying out, and he remembered being kissed and the way it felt to stare up at the sky and the stars like he was living out a romance novel scene. It had been magical, if he had to pick only one word.

 

Tsukishima had clearly taken it to the next step by performing a vanishing act. Lover boy from last night was nowhere to be found within the unresponsive statue that couldn’t even spare him a simple “good morning.” 

 

Yamaguchi twiddled his thumbs as he stared forward. Their algebra teacher entered the classroom and began her lesson, but Yamaguchi couldn’t pay attention at all (not like he did anyway; math came naturally to him and the lessons were boring, so this was nothing new). Tsukishima was taking diligent notes beside him. The scraping of his pen on the notebook paper prodded its way into Yamaguchi’s brain. He clenched his jaw. From the corner of his eye, he could see how Tsukishima would not even turn his head to his direction, not even slightly, and this drove Yamaguchi up a wall. What was his issue? Had they had a fight that Yamaguchi had forgotten about in his sickly daze? 

 

The class period dragged on and on. It seemed like the second hand of the wall clock was moving backwards up until the signal of the bell.

 

Yamaguchi moved to collect his things quickly, as did Tsukishima, who still hadn’t looked at him. He knew it shouldn’t be angering him this much, but Yamaguchi was used to the attention Tsukishima paid him. The shuffling sound of papers reminded him to move quicker, but when he looked up from his bookbag, Tsukishima was already walking out of the classroom, headphones slung around his neck, posture high and intimidating as usual.

 

_ Damn. _

 

Not wanting to seem too conspicuous, Yamaguchi pulled the straps of his bag over his shoulders and burst out into the hallway, almost knocking over a pair of girls who glared at him as if trying to blot him out from existing. Without hesitating, he walked seethingly towards his next classroom. There, he’d be spending the remainder of his classes for the day up until school ended, and it would also be where he would get stuck in his thoughts again and beat himself up over why in the  _ hell _ Tsukishima was acting so weird.

 

“Yamaguchi!”

 

A voice came from across the hallway. Yamaguchi managed to look up in recognition as a flurry of orange hair appeared beside him. Hinata looked slightly concerned when he noticed the expression on Yamaguchi’s face, and his eyebrows creased as if he were going to ask about it. 

 

“You look worried,” he pointed out.

 

“I am,” Yamaguchi answered simply, tilting his head as he slowed his stride down to match the shorter boy’s own. He didn’t have a reason to take out his frustrations on Hinata. He probably had his own troubles, anyway, and Yamaguchi would feel bad if Hinata had to listen to him rant about how stupidly unresponsive Tsukishima was being.

 

“Are you still sick?” inquired Hinata as they kept walking, brushing past other students meandering about in the halls. “Kageyama said that Suga-san made Tsukishima go over to your house to bring you your assignments you missed.”

 

Well, that was debunked, then. It hadn’t been Tsukishima’s idea after all. Yamaguchi had obviously appreciated it, and now as Hinata told him the circumstance, that appreciation was dialed down ever so slightly. On the other hand, it unnerved him that Suga had become so involved in whatever was happening with him and Tsukishima; Yamaguchi hadn’t asked for a counselor, but if he  _ had  _ made an offer, he imagined Suga jumping at the chance. It was hard to be grateful for his “mediation” when Yamaguchi could barely understand his own feelings about Tsukishima in the first place.

 

“How did Kageyama know?”

 

“He overheard them in the bathroom. I’m pretty sure he likes to listen to people’s conversations in there. Y’know, like a pervert.”

 

Yamaguchi mentally facepalmed. 

 

“Hinata,” he said, stopping for a moment to catch the other boy’s attention. “If you get a chance to see Tsukishima before practice, tell him I’m sorry, okay?” He asked the question slowly, making sure Hinata understood. With a glint in his eyes, Hinata nodded dramatically.

 

“Okay!”

 

He began to walk off into the midst of the crowded hallway, but turned back to give Yamaguchi a wild thumbs up. Inwardly cringing, Yamaguchi unenthusiastically gave one back before turning the other way to head towards his next class. Trusting Hinata with that task might have been a mistake. The guy had little to no common sense for crying out loud, and Yamaguchi was already in turmoil as it was, but there wasn’t much else he could do. If Hinata’s piercing voice couldn’t manage to get through to him, then Yamaguchi might as well give up. To be fair, though, it wasn’t really his place to be apologizing. What was there to apologize for? Tsukishima had asked to kiss  _ him _ , and Yamaguchi hadn’t done anything wrong. Hell, he’d even enjoyed it. 

 

This was exactly why he needed Tsukishima to get his head out of his ass.

 

Ignoring Yamaguchi was no way to win him over.

 

There was a war going on inside his mind. Yamaguchi wanted desperately to let go of the bitterness and the subconscious dislike. It was the only thing he wanted to do, really. Letting go of the one thing you’d always been so sure of, though, was nothing easy. He doubted anyone would ever be able to understand--no one besides Tsukishima, anyway. Yamaguchi was now aware that Tsukishima had faced pretty much the same thing when he was younger; bullying and being beaten down seemed to be one of the major things they had in common. 

 

The one person Yamaguchi felt the most connected with turned out to be the cause of everything he hated about himself.

 

He sat through the rest of the school day daydreaming about billions of scenarios stemming from that one day in the park. He pictured himself holding Tsukishima’s hand and smiling up at him like any normal person would with someone they admired. His smile would be happy. It would be  _ real,  _ because what if Tsukishima hadn’t kept walking? If he had stopped and scared those other boys away, would they have been friends? Would they have grown up loving each other? He wanted to shake the word ‘love’ out of his head before he could dwell on it too much. Love was something for another time, with another person who deserved it.

 

_ But Tsukishima might deserve it.  _ He shoved the thought further out of sight.

 

Rhetorical questions overwhelmed Yamaguchi to no end. His anxious mind was in no way eased by the thought of knowing Tsukishima as anyone but a dark horse. He had always hated him. Maybe some part of him always would. His heart ached at the sight of him, but it hurt him even more to try and pretend it wasn’t painful.

 

It was excruciating.

 

Perhaps Tsukishima was doing something good in trying to get Yamaguchi out of his head.

 

\--

 

Tsukishima couldn’t ignore the fact that Suga was staring at him.

 

As practice wore on, he grew increasingly frustrated with himself, thus resulting in dirty looks being thrown between him and any of his teammates that did so much as blink. He got yelled at by Daichi, but he shook it off. Tanaka and Noya screamed joking insults his way, and he just grimaced and continued doing what he needed to do to get it all to be over with. Suga, however, quietly observed from wherever he happened to be; Tsukishima wanted to ignore his calculating eyes but the persistence was nagging at him, getting him to lose his focus on jumping higher or hitting harder.

 

Yamaguchi seemed to be doing great.

 

He didn’t want to admit it, but his eye would be caught by Yamaguchi’s serving, and Tsukishima would correct himself and look away before Yamaguchi could notice; Tsukishima wouldn’t budge as he stood watching, trying not to curse under his breath. Perhaps it was obvious to Suga, then. He must’ve sensed something was off.

 

“Cooldown stretching, grab a partner!” Suga proclaimed from the sideline, once their drills had dwindled down to an end. Tsukishima looked up in surprise. A partner? Where did that come from? Right as Suga gave instruction, Yamaguchi looked his way, and Tsukishima maintained a straight face. Frowning, he caught Kageyama by the arm as he walked past, apparently trying to get over to Hinata.

 

“We’re partners,” Tsukishima forced himself to say. Kageyama furrowed his eyebrows.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because I said so.”

 

Seeing Yamaguchi shake his head in disbelief from across the court made Tsukishima feel absolutely numb. Kageyama stopped protesting and sat down on the gym floor as Tsukishima did. They stretched together, and the awkward silence pooled around them, threatening to burst like a bubble.

 

“Tsukishima--”

 

“If you say one more word, I’m going to punch you.”

 

“I just, er, wanted to know if...y’know, you’re okay.”

 

Tsukishima stared. Kageyama shifted uncomfortably.

 

“Why are you asking?” he answered, moving to stretch out his legs.

 

Kageyama copied his positioning, shrugging his shoulders back.

 

“Well, considering how often you imply that you’re going to beat my ass, I just didn’t expect you to partner up with me.”

 

Tsukishima couldn’t argue with that reasoning. Kageyama may annoy him, and his ego may want to make him punch any object within reach, but if he was dead-set on getting rid of all the sappy feelings currently occupying his mind, Tsukishima would have to deal with it.

 

_ At least it isn’t Hinata, _ he thought.

 

Tsukishima put on his most dastardly smile, making sure to hide any implication that Kageyama had pestered him in the past.

 

“Look, maybe we should work at being acquaintances. If you don’t have a problem, then I don’t have a problem.”

 

“I don’t get it.”

 

“I’m saying,” said Tsukishima through gritted teeth, “that we’re friends now. Got it?”

 

Kageyama looked scared out of his mind, but he nodded nonetheless.

 

“If you say so. Oh, would you look at that. I think we’re done,” said Kageyama, looking around nervously. The third years had gotten up and were packing things away; Tsukishima got to his feet and hesitantly held out a hand to Kageyama, who took it and lifted himself up with no pause.

 

“Thanks,” he said, brushing his shorts off.

 

“Don’t mention it,” Tsukishima replied lazily.

 

Suga came out from the supply closet and looked around. Tsukishima turned his back to him before he could meet his eyes, but his effort was futile, because in a second, Suga was at his side. Tsukishima inwardly groaned. 

 

“Tsukishima,” he greeted him, smiling up but not letting his eyes in on it. That was the first indication that he was about to start pounding information out of him. He held his hands in front of him, and Tsukishima heightened his internal defences.

 

“Suga-san,” he answered. “Is something wrong?”

 

“Come with me.”

 

Before he knew it, Suga had taken him by the sleeve of his team jacket and was pulling him outside. Tsukishima had his back up against the wall, Suga facing him with an expression full of shielded indignation. It was comical having Suga, who barely surpassed his shoulders in height, stand so firmly in front of him, hands on his hips in such a way that made Tsukishima want to laugh and hide at the same time. He looked like he was thinking for things to say, so Tsukishima just stood there, arms dangling at his sides.

 

“Tsukishima, are you aware that I can tell when any one of my teammates is having a problem, no matter what that problem may be?”

 

“I--”

 

Suga smiled, holding up a hand. “Don’t answer,” he stated, and Tsukishima shut himself up.

 

“I know something is going on between you and our _ dear _ friend Yamaguchi. I can make a safe guess that whatever it is, it isn’t particularly good, because both of you acted completely out of the ordinary during practice today, don’t you think?”

 

Suga paused, and Tsukishima took the opportunity to answer. 

 

“Suga-san, Yamaguchi did really well today. That may be out of the ordinary, but how could you tell something was wrong with him?”

 

“Well,” Suga reiterated, tilting his head, “it was obvious. When you’re angry or discontented, don’t you tend to let your frustrations out on other things? Whereas Yamaguchi put whatever was bothering him into making his serves better, you turned it into spite. Didn’t you notice you were being exceptionally rude today?”

 

Squinting his eyes, Tsukishima shook his head. 

 

“I know, it must be hard to tell,” Suga joked, “because you’re a spiteful person anyway. I know that’s not who you really are, though.”

 

Tsukishima looked down at him. Suga had this thing about him, he couldn’t really put a finger on it or what it was, but his eyes seemed to look so damn deep into you, making it impossible to swim up and out. Tsukishima was not fighting him. He wanted help, but sharing his feelings with Suga wasn’t something he saw himself as being okay with. Those eyes, however; he felt so compelled to just talk and talk about everything.

 

“Who are you really, Tsukishima? Who is it that you’re trying to hide from?”

 

Silence.

 

His words shook the ground and made everything Tsukishima felt inside of him crumple to pieces. He didn’t show it. The stoic posture he had held thus far would not drop yet. All he could do was bow his head, and whether it was in defeat or in annoyance he couldn’t tell the difference.

 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Suga-san. Thank you.”

 

It was a bitter expression of false gratitude; they were words that Tsukishima didn’t mean but said anyway, and Suga nodded and stepped back to let him move. Tsukishima left him standing there while he climbed the few steps to re-enter the gym. Everyone was packing their things away, sharing jokes, laughing, and Tsukishima couldn’t be bothered to look around for Yamaguchi. He cursed himself for even thinking about him. His gym bag was up against the wall by itself, and he grabbed it quickly after pulling his phone and headphones out of it. Slipping the headphones over his ears, he left the gym without a word to anyone, and it occurred to him that he was walking alone. An American band called Nirvana was playing on his phone; he clicked the volume higher and turned a corner, letting the drums bang into his head like a hammer on nails.

 

For some reason, he was relaxed.

 

As Tsukishima crossed the bridge over the ravine, he didn’t stop to look down. Being here now carried a good memory. He tried not to think about Yamaguchi, or how soft their first kiss had been. Part of him wondered if Yamaguchi had ever kissed someone before him. He doubted it. Tsukishima had most likely been the first, and vice versa. Right now, as his feet led him past each steel bridge beam, he wanted nothing more than to be able to think about kissing Yamaguchi and not feeling guilt because of it. That was why he had asked yesterday, when Yamaguchi had looked so fucking perfect just sitting there, eyes towards the stars, moonlight casting shadows on all the right places to make his face look curious and childlike. He had asked because he needed to know if it would’ve felt right if he did it without any surprises. The past times had been Yamaguchi acting on impulse. Tsukishima acted on the same impulse, but it had been so different.

 

Instead of waking him up, it had put everything inside him to rest.

 

Tsukishima was in too deep for his own good.

 

He had kissed Yamaguchi and it had felt like the most normal thing in the world. It had been so natural, but at the same time he found himself wanting to run and jump and scream and let out all of the things building up in his chest. Being that close to him was a feeling Tsukishima didn’t want to lose, but in order for him to keep it safe, he needed distance. Explaining all of this to Yamaguchi wouldn’t be right, because Tsukishima assumed that figuring everything out for himself was what was best and he couldn’t expect Yamaguchi to understand his reasoning. Tsukishima would admit: it was kind of twisted. He would let it destroy him, being the masochist he thought he was when it came to feelings. 

 

Theoretically, Yamaguchi should’ve forgiven him by now. If there was one thing Tsukishima was especially bitter about, it was that fact. By staying away, he would be making Yamaguchi happy. By making him happy, Tsukishima would be happy, and then everyone would be happy together and nothing would hurt and everything would end up just as it should be: Yamaguchi reciprocating his feelings, Suga minding his own damn business, and Tsukishima letting himself love someone else for once.

 

Love. It was a funny word.

 

It hurt to think about Yamaguchi, but Tsukishima knew it was his own heart trying to protect itself. When you’ve built up so many walls, it would only end painfully when someone barged in and started knocking them down. Yamaguchi had no right to do it, but love was letting him do it anyway. 

 

_ It isn’t love yet, _ he told himself. _ It can’t be love when they don’t feel the same way. _

 

Love drove Tsukishima home. It drove him to stay awake all night listening to music on full volume, staring at the ceiling and thinking about what would’ve happened if he hadn’t kept walking. He and Yamaguchi would’ve been friends all throughout their younger days. They would’ve been there for each other against the mean comments and the name-calling. Tsukishima would’ve been willing to beat up anyone who dared to call Yamaguchi’s face dirty due to the freckles, and he would bet that Yamaguchi would’ve done the same (albeit less effectively) to anyone mocking Tsukishima’s height.

 

If only he had stopped.

 

If only Tsukishima had gotten over himself just that  _ one _ time.

 

He would just have to force things to fall into place like they should have, because God knows how long it’d take Yamaguchi to let the damn thing go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so the plot thickens.
> 
> let me know what you think!  
> next update will beeeeeee......sometime in the future.  
> thanks for reading this far! :-)


	10. time after time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning to the hard shell of a sixteen-year-old Tsukishima had been before meeting Yamaguchi again was favorable.
> 
> Of course, this was a lie.

Days turn into weeks.

 

Aside from volleyball, Tsukishima hasn’t seen Yamaguchi anywhere. It’d become easier to ignore him as his daily life went on, but it was only because of how he was keeping himself and his heart occupied. Kageyama seemed to be growing on him; perhaps it was his clouded judgement, but Tsukishima was actually kind of glad, albeit grudgingly so, to have another human being to say a few words to now and again. Never in his life would he spill personal information to the other first year, however; Tsukishima was reluctant as it was when it came to emotions, and Kageyama surely was not bright enough to provide any advice on his situation, so Tsukishima kept it to the formalities when it came to being his acquaintance. 

 

He would say “friend,” but Tsukishima used that word exclusively with Yamaguchi. A friend was apparently someone who he could make jokes with and walk home with and fantasize about making out with. That was a friend. Kageyama wasn’t ugly, but Tsukishima would rather kiss a frog than have to kiss him.

 

Tsukishima sat next to Yamaguchi every morning in math class. He usually spent the entire period drumming his fingers along the edge of his desk, or chewing on the tip of his eraser, because Yamaguchi kept side-eyeing him and Tsukishima needed a distraction to keep from looking over and getting all mushy inside. Returning to the hard shell of a sixteen-year-old Tsukishima had been before meeting Yamaguchi again was favorable.

 

Of course, this was a lie.

 

At lunch, Tsukishima decides that lying to himself cannot be his default defense mechanism. He needs to take action and set things right. Yamaguchi sat in their normal spot, and Tsukishima approached him along the sidewalk; the other boy looked up as soon as his shadow crossed the grass. Tsukishima, however, did not stop under the tree where Yamaguchi sat with his bento.

 

Instead, he acted on a carefully formulated scheme to make his skin crawl with jealousy. 

 

Setting things right, right?

 

“Maru-chan!”

 

She stands with a small group of friends in the corner of the courtyard; Tsukishima calls her name as he passes Yamaguchi, intentionally raising his voice louder than he was used to. He only knows the girl because she sits in front of him in his history class. Tsukishima used her given name intentionally, which makes her blush as she turns to look for the source of the voice. Her friends stare at him; in a way, Tsukishima knows how often girls talk about him, but he chooses to ignore it.

 

Mostly because, well, he isn’t all that into them. Any of them, actually. Girls freaked him out. They were too... _ girly. _ He didn’t necessarily like girly. Then again, he didn’t necessarily like anything that wasn’t Yamaguchi. He tried to disguise this as he looked down at his classmate. Her eyes shone, but Tsukishima was only staring at his own reflection looking back up at him.

 

“Y-yes?” she says, holding her hands in front of her skirt. Tsukishima notices.

 

_ This is how girls try and be cute. Huh. _

 

He smiles. Internally, he hopes he doesn’t look cold. “I was hoping to take you on a date. Would you like to –”

 

“Yes! Yes, Kei-san! Of course!”

 

Tsukishima almost cringes. No one calls him Kei besides his family; he’d become unaccustomed to hearing it, but he keeps the smile plastered on his face despite his surprise. Maru doesn’t looked phased, and her friends giggle nearby as if they’re all in on some secret, but all Tsukishima does is stand there like an idiot because he never thought he’d get this far.

 

He ends up leaving her with his phone number.

 

When he turns around to walk away, the sight of Yamaguchi running down the sidewalk shatters everything inside his chest; his plan had been to make him jealous, and apparently he’d succeeded.

 

_ It’s okay,  _ he thinks, rubbing his temples.  _ It’s going to work. Everything is okay. _

 

Everything is definitely not okay.

 

\--

 

Volleyball practice starts.

 

Yamaguchi is not there.

 

While the rest of the team runs laps around the town, Yamaguchi paces in the club room. The lights are off and the tiny space feels so eerie, mostly because none of his friends are around making noise and clamoring on about random things. He stands in front of the thin metal bench that is pushed up against one wall. In his hands, Yamaguchi holds his jersey, the white number twelve glaring on the front like a neon sign.

 

He’s quitting.

 

Yamaguchi was a lot of things. He was an artist, an overthinker, an anxious mess, and a confused sixteen-year-old who just so happened to be figuring himself out. “Quitter” was not apart of this list, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

 

He’s quitting because that was the obvious thing to do when your only close friend locks you out and breaks your heart yet again with his actions.

 

...right?

 

Yamaguchi simply did not care anymore. He never played in matches, and the hours spent perfecting his serve would just continue to pile on without much result. If he couldn’t showcase his progress, then what was the point? Tsukishima didn’t watch him anymore. Suga continued to coach him, but Yamaguchi could recognize the frustration in his senpai’s eyes whenever things didn’t go as planned. Even Kageyama, who had helped him a couple of times with a characteristic determination, seemed to be losing hope when they’d switch out during practices.

 

There was simply no future for him on this team.

 

He lays the jersey out on the bench. Before he can change his mind, Yamaguchi leaves the room, keeping his eyes set inside as he closes the door, looking towards the bench before it shuts completely. 

 

Strangely, he doesn’t feel sad anymore.

 

Seeing Tsukishima ask that girl on a date earlier had literally numbed him. He had sat watching his back as he’d done it, but when he turned around, he’d fled. He couldn’t bear to see his face; the smug expression that usually rested there would’ve certainly been evident. Yamaguchi hadn’t known how to feel. As he’d ran, tears had formed in his eyes before he’d realized what was happening, and he’d wiped them away because God forbid Tsukishima see him cry over him. 

 

It was so goddamn aggravating being conflicted and not having anyone understand.

 

Yamaguchi continued his walk home, but turned down the opposite way when he got to his street. In his pants pocket, he felt his phone buzz, but he ignored it. He didn’t want to be distracted. All he wanted to do was think.

 

Before he knows it, his feet lead him down the well-trodden road over the ravine near Tsukishima’s house; the red steel bridge spans out in front of him and to the sides of him, but Yamaguchi is not thinking about the bridge. He’s thinking about the night he kissed his best friend and felt nothing but happiness, and how his eyes had been closed, hanging on past the moment’s end, and how the words “I like you” dug themselves a Tsukishima-shaped hole in his chest, unrelenting in the way they kept reminding him of the conflict raging inside his heart.

 

Yamaguchi leans up against the steel barrier, letting his weight fall. The breeze created by the ravine below lifts his hair from the back of his neck, sending goosebumps running along his skin. It suddenly occurs to him that his phone is ringing. He pulls it from his pocket and answers it without looking to see who the caller is.

 

“What?” he snaps.

 

“Yamaguchi, are you alright?” Suga’s voice comes through to his ear. Yamaguchi huffs.

 

“Yeah, why?”

 

He hears Suga take a deep breath. “The team...we’re in the club room, I have you on speaker. Practice just ended. Why did you leave your jersey in here, and why did you skip today?”

 

“...I quit.”

 

Cries of disbelief sound from through his phone. Yamaguchi closes his eyes. He hears what sounds like Hinata screaming in the background, half angry and half surprised. Tanaka and Noya are yelling, incoherent noises of refusal blocking out the rest of what Suga is trying to say. Suddenly, Daichi’s voice sounds through the mess.

 

“Yamaguchi, have we treated you wrong? Is it something I said to you? I never meant to be harsh in practice, you know that, right? Are you –”

 

“Daichi-san,” Yamaguchi interrupts, “it’s not your fault. I just...I don’t know. I don’t feel like I belong to the team anymore. I just waste space. I don’t play in matches, and it’s not like any of you would notice I’m not there.” He ends up letting all his feelings pour out. Yamaguchi is grateful he stands on such a secluded road, because the pitch of his voice grows with every confession. It shuts the team up; no one is yelling anymore. 

 

“Yamaguchi,” Suga says again, this time quieter. He assumes he’s been taken off speaker. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

 

“Tell him we love him!” says a voice; Yamaguchi recognizes it as Hinata. 

 

“Listen, Suga-san, I don’t think there’s anything you can do to try and –”

 

“No, you listen Yamaguchi. You’re an important member of this team! So what you don’t play as much in matches? You’re our pinch server. You've improved so much, and I doubt you’re telling me the actual reason for why you’re making this decision.”

 

The wind picks up. Yamaguchi holds his breath.

 

“Bye, Suga-san. I’ll see you around school.”

 

Pulling the phone from his ear, he hangs up before any more of Suga’s protests can come through. Yamaguchi still feels numb. He’d thought that the revelation would come, but it hadn’t. His moment of having the weight freed from his shoulders hadn’t arrived yet. He still felt bogged down by the air as he departed the bridge; he thought to himself how to get rid of it, but was distracted by the notion of Tsukishima hearing the entire phone conversation. He hadn’t yelled in protest like everyone else .  Yamaguchi would’ve recognized his voice.

 

Perhaps he really didn’t care anymore.

 

And for some reason, this just added to the weight already there, hanging above Yamaguchi’s head and pushing him further and further into his own little hole.

 

Yamaguchi gets home to find a person on his porch. Blond hair ruffled, glasses askew, and a sour expression on his face twisting his lips into half of a sneer, Yamaguchi couldn’t even be surprised anymore. He was so used to Tsukishima showing up whenever he felt the convenience, and it wasn’t exactly welcome. He has his knees pulled to his chest as he sits on Yamaguchi’s front steps. Somehow, he looks so small, but Yamaguchi climbs up and walks right past him.

 

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” says Tsukishima.

 

“No.”

 

Yamaguchi pulls his house key from his pocket and sticks it in the lock, twisting to open the door. He knows his parents aren’t home. They never are. He steps inside and doesn’t look back as Tsukishima gets up to follow him inside, silent as he takes the same steps to Yamaguchi’s room. Yamaguchi quietly sets his bag on the ground and takes a seat on his bed. The lights are off, and the star stickers glow on his ceiling. He wants to sit here and stare at them, but Tsukishima comes in after him and shuts the door behind him.

 

“Why are you quitting?” Tsukishima asks, moving to stand in front of him, arms dangling awkwardly at his sides before he crosses them over his chest.

 

When Yamaguchi doesn’t answer him, Tsukishima lets out a low sound of frustration. Yamaguchi dares to look up at him, and Tsukishima couldn’t look more menacing if he tried. In his mind, Yamaguchi paints him, but he’s not glowering; he wears a smile and he’s laughing, even if it is mocking. Yamaguchi likes him best when he smiles. He likes him all the time, but Tsukishima would look a lot better if he just stopped being so stern and cruel-intentioned.

 

“I know it’s because of me.”

 

“Then why ask?”

 

Yamaguchi’s infliction triggers a flash of hostility across Tsukishima’s face. Yamaguchi gets to his feet and challenges him just by standing there. He may be shorter, but Yamaguchi could easily see how uncomfortable Tsukishima was now. Now he had to look at him face-to-face. He was so tired of being looked down at.

 

“Why ask?” Tsukishima echoes. Yamaguchi nods, as if to encourage him.

 

“If you know I’m quitting because I can’t stand to look at you, then why ask? Why ask, if you already know how you make me feel? Huh, Tsukishima? Why ask?”

 

His words seem to slap Tsukishima across the face; he turns red in the cheeks, but his eyes remain trained on Yamaguchi’s own. He doesn’t want to admit it, but letting all this emotion out right now was what he needed. The weight on his shoulders was heavy, but he didn’t mind passing it on to someone else for a change.

 

“How  _ do _ I make you feel?”

 

The question comes out quietly; it’s not something Yamaguchi expects. Tsukishima’s voice had dropped low. The hurt was evident. Yamaguchi had done that. That was his fault. He stares back into the other boy’s eyes. A small amount of sunlight leaks through the blinds covering Yamaguchi’s window, but it’s enough to melt the yellow of his irises into the color that reminds Yamaguchi of venom, attractive enough to trick you into thinking you’re safe and powerful enough to let you know what a mistake you’ve made after diving in. He channels these thoughts into the words that spill from his mouth to answer.

 

“You make me feel like an idiot! All I have to do is look at you and my insides turn in circles, and I hate it!” Yamaguchi throws his hands out. 

 

“Can’t you see? Can’t you realize how badly I want to feel normal about you? All I’ve ever wanted was someone to be close to, someone to trust and to love, but all I got was you!”

 

Tsukishima’s eyes shine. Yamaguchi tries to ignore it.

 

“And before you ask,” he continues, shaking his head wildly in accusation, “this has nothing to do with that time in the park. It has nothing to do with how torn up I was that you didn’t help, because I can’t blame you for it. I’m done blaming you for it. I’ve moved past it, and I’ve figured out why. I wanted to give you a chance, Tsukishima. All I wanted was to give you a chance, but I could see how badly you felt when I was still figuring it out, and I decided that you don’t deserve that chance if you were going to keep on trying. I appreciated the effort. It was nice. But now that I’m aware of how much you mean to me, you pull away! You’re confusing as hell. What was I supposed to think?”

 

Yamaguchi steps back in an attempt to signal the end of his polemic, leaving the question out there for consideration; Tsukishima keeps a blank face.

 

“Well?” prods Yamaguchi, angrily holding his arms out, trying to get Tsukishima to talk.

 

“I think,” he began finally, “I think that our problem isn’t as deep as we’re trying to make it.”

 

Yamaguchi exhales in frustration. “What?” He’s confused; Tsukishima just pushes his glasses up, a look of impatience evident all over his features. He rolls his eyes.

 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Tadashi.”

 

Tsukishima grabs him by the shoulders and leans down forcefully to push their mouths together; Yamaguchi freezes, feeling Tsukishima’s fingers gripping his collar bone with ferocity. His body reacts with what’s happening, letting his lips mesh with Tsukishima’s, anger subsiding only slightly as he lets any thought of never talking to the other boy again fade from his mind. 

 

Up until now, Yamaguchi had only known timidness. He had only been aware of soft and nice...not that this wasn’t nice, but Yamaguchi couldn’t even focus on his own heart thudding away in his chest. 

 

Tsukishima pushed him down back into a sitting position, and he moved to be beside him on the bed, long legs fighting for room so that their lips could stay connected. Yamaguchi liked the way Tsukishima smelled, he thought absentmindedly. It reminded him of the library, like old books and age, but it suited him somehow. His glasses kept bumping Yamaguchi’s face, and in a desperate attempt to make himself more comfortable, he pulls away for a second, causing Tsukishima’s eyes to flash open as if in a daze. Yamaguchi lifts his hands from where they’d been resting around his neck to pull the glasses away, tossing them haphazardly to the side. 

 

They stare at each other, breathless from the kiss, but it only lasts a millisecond before Yamaguchi dips forward again, taking Tsukishima’s face in his hands, being careful not to smash their noses together as he resumes what Tsukishima had started.

 

Yamaguchi feels adventurous. He lets his teeth bite ever so slightly on Tsukishima’s bottom lip, which causes him to jerk in surprise. Yamaguchi smiles through the action as Tsukishima does the same to him, sucking instead of nipping, and Yamaguchi lets out a whimper involuntarily.

 

“Why...did you...why are you...doing this?” Yamaguchi breathes whenever he can manage to get out a word in between the linking of their lips. He lets his hands fall from Tsukishima’s face, placing them back around his neck, fingers dancing lightly on the patch of skin right above the collar of his t-shirt.

 

Tsukishima pulls away this time, eyes still closed, and pushes his forehead against Yamaguchi’s own. He feels the heat of the other body right against his face, sending unseen shivers along the skin Tsukishima touches; he feels the pressure of Tsukishima’s hands on his sides, gripping right where his rib cage sits.

 

“I think I might love you. Is this what love is?”

 

Tsukishima’s breath is warm on Yamaguchi’s cheek. He doesn’t say anything to answer; he leans his face forward to plant tiny kisses along Tsukishima’s right cheekbone, making a trail from under his eye to the skin below his ear and along his jaw. Tsukishima sighs, tilting his head back slightly, making it easier for Yamaguchi to continue kissing down his neck. He stops halfway between his ear and where his shoulders branch out to kiss the skin there more intently, sucking, knowing that he’ll be leaving some sort of blushed bruise. Tsukishima’s breathing only gets heavier; somewhere inside himself, Yamaguchi knows he has to stop.

 

For the first time in a long time, though, he doesn’t want to.

 

“Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima manages to say. Yamaguchi pulls away for a moment, admiring him without the glasses to obstruct his face. His cheeks are flushed, more colorful than Yamaguchi had ever seen them before. The spot on his neck under his ear was a dark splotch contrasting the paler skin around it; Yamaguchi felt proud.

 

“You said...you said love. Did you mean to say love?” Yamaguchi whispers frantically, moving his fingers to hold the side of Tsukishima’s face. 

 

“What did it mean when you couldn’t stop drawing me?” mumbles Tsukishima, placing his own hands so that they link behind Yamaguchi’s back. “What did it mean when you kissed me on that bridge, or when you ran off today when I tried to make you jealous?”

 

Yamaguchi blinks, shaking his head faintly.

 

“What did it mean, just now, when you kissed me back? When you let yourself go? When you bit my lip, sucked on my neck, left a mark on me..?”

 

“I...I don’t…”

 

Tsukishima stares at him, long and hard, through half-lidded eyes. Yamaguchi watches his lips, super swollen, and the flash of his tongue as he goes to wet them.

 

“Don’t say anything,” Tsukishima said gently, and it threw Yamaguchi so off-balance that he didn’t even try to object when he was pushed back up against his headboard, Tsukishima maneuvering so that he sat somewhat awkwardly between his spread-out legs. His lips followed the line of Yamaguchi’s jaw, and he let himself breathe slow and steady, curling his hand through the hair at the nape of his neck.

 

So, Yamaguchi listened.

  
He said absolutely nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's it for this update!  
> PLEASE let me know what you think!   
> feedback always motivates me to write more and get more creative with everything i do.   
> i'm so thankful to have so many readers that have left me nice comments about this work,  
> and i'm striving to do my best to please you :-)  
> until next time!  
> as always, thanks for reading this far.


	11. truly madly deeply

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You never answered my question.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright, so this will be the final update of this fic.  
> it's been a good journey, in my opinion.  
> i'm so glad for all the readers who have left me kudos/comments; it's what motivated me to get this thing finished.  
> here we go guys. :-)

The weather was not pleasant the next day. Rain had been coming down in sheets for hours, and the steady drum of the drops on the roof made Yamaguchi want to close his eyes and fall asleep again. Gray light from the overcast sky filtered in through the window in his room; he was tangled up in the sheets on his bed even though it was nearing midday. He didn’t feel like getting up. Yamaguchi rubbed the grogginess from his eyes and stared up at the ceiling.

 

Tsukishima’s steady breathing was audible even over the storm.

 

He was sprawled out on the floor on a makeshift pallet composed of various blankets and pillows Yamaguchi had had lying around. Last night, he had suggested an impromptu sleepover, and Yamaguchi had agreed faster than he’d cared to admit. Out loud, he cited the coming storm as a reason for Tsukishima to stay over. In return, he’d received a sly look and a  _ “sure, that’s why.”  _ The two had stayed up until dawn just talking–well, mostly talking and sometimes kissing–about anything that had come to mind. Yamaguchi had asked Tsukishima millions of questions; he’d answered them all and then some. It had been nice.

 

Tsukishima’s favorite color was green, he had learned. His favorite food was strawberry shortcake. Yamaguchi had laughed at that until his sides had hurt, because  _ of course  _ it was. Tsukishima hadn’t appreciated this, scolding him for mocking  _ “the tastiest dessert in the world, perfect for any occasion.”  _ This had only made him laugh more, until Tsukishima had shaken his head and looked at him with a smile, despite the tang of his words.

 

He’d also admitted to getting flustered when Yamaguchi called him a nickname.

 

“What?” Yamaguchi had said, giggling at the sight of Tsukishima’s red cheeks.

 

“Y-you say it so...so cutely. Stop it.”

 

“I can’t help it, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi replied, intentionally drawing out Tsukishima’s name. After that, he had been suddenly pinned down on the floor in what had started as a small play-fight but ended in Yamaguchi receiving a few marks on his jaw from where Tsukishima had kissed.

 

He was fairly certain “Tsukki” was going to stick around.

 

Yamaguchi had also been forced to answer Tsukishima’s questions. A lot of them weren’t as personal, but he hadn’t minded. Talking about what kind of dinosaur he’d like to be or what he thought about various rock bands had been pleasant, because he had seen first hand how hard Tsukishima geeked out when it came to certain topics. All in all, he was a giant nerd who thought too much about how Yamaguchi felt about him, and Yamaguchi had quieted his doubts whenever he expressed them.

 

They worked.

 

Everything worked.

 

They’d discussed their problem together, after the getting-to-know-each-other phase had subsided. Yamaguchi had admitted that it wasn’t his fault that he took so long to realize how stupid he was being, and Tsukishima had understood, and it had been so relieving to have someone understand how his anxiety made his gears turn; Tsukishima had eased any uncertainties still floating around inside him, and Yamaguchi had assured him that he could put a full effort into giving him a chance. From the looks of it, this confession would have made Tsukishima cry, but when Yamaguchi had caught him with misty eyes, he had hastily wiped them with the back of his arm and denied ever being born with tear ducts in the first place.

 

He looked formidable and cold and hypercritical, but on the inside, he really was capable of loving. 

 

Love. The word didn’t seem so scary anymore.

 

It wasn’t frightening when you knew someone. It was familiar and warm, and Yamaguchi knew Tsukishima had never let anyone in to see that side of him before; too bad, because Yamaguchi had taken a power drill to all the stone walls he had built trying to protect himself. None of the other guys on the volleyball team knew him, but Yamaguchi did.

 

Tsukishima made him apologize last night for quitting. He had called Suga on the phone around midnight, and the third year had picked up, voice muffled from just being woken up.

 

“Suga-san, I’m sorry for being an idiot,” Yamaguchi had digressed. Suga had just laughed.

 

“So you aren’t quitting? That’s good.”

 

Yamaguchi had agreed, said a few more words, and told Suga goodbye, but not before he could get in another sentiment.

 

“Oh, and Yamaguchi? Tell Tsukishima how you feel. Trust me.”

 

Yamaguchi had ended the phone call, ears and face blushed with embarrassment, before Tsukishima had pulled him close for a kiss on the cheek.

Now, he continued to stare at the ceiling, but he wasn’t thinking about anything but the soft sound of Tsukishima inhaling and exhaling beneath him on the floor.

 

“Are you awake, Tsukki?” he says quietly.

 

There are a few seconds of silence, and Yamaguchi hears the other boy shuffling around with his blankets. He can’t see him from where he lays, but Yamaguchi knows his hair is probably a mess, wavy and disorderly from sleep. 

 

“Tsukki?” Yamaguchi repeats, softer this time.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Nothing, I just wanted to see if you were awake.”

 

“Okay.”

 

A few more minutes pass. They’re both breathing together, and even though neither of them says anything, Yamaguchi feels content.

 

“Yamaguchi?” Tsukishima spoke, and Yamaguchi took the opportunity to look over the side of his bed to the floor. Propping his head up on his hand, he looks down to Tsukishima. He’s a mess of legs and blankets, and he lays with his face to the ceiling, eyes shut, glasses strewn to the side of his pillow.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You never answered my question.”

 

Suddenly, Yamaguchi is thrown back to the day when Tsukishima first walked home with him after practice; he had stated the same thing, accusing him of not answering the question of friendship, and Yamaguchi had agreed to getting to know him. Now, as he lay there looking down at him spread out on his bedroom floor, Yamaguchi couldn’t understand why he’d ever been so doubtful.

 

“What question?” he answers softly.

 

“Last night, I asked you something.” Tsukishima continues, eyes still closed, hands behind his head. “I asked you if this is what love feels like. Do you think it is?”

 

Yamaguchi is at a loss for words. Under any other circumstance, he’d have already answered with a quick _ “no,”  _ but the rain is distracting him and the way Tsukishima’s hair curls right above his eyebrows makes him contemplate every single thing he’s ever been unsure of. 

 

“I don’t know, and that’s my honest answer. Should I explain?” Yamaguchi says finally, hesitating before offering to delve deeper.

 

“Mmm.”

 

With a deep breath, he goes on, rolling back so that he stares at the ceiling once again.

 

“I first met you, and I thought I hated you. Time went on. I kept hating you. I filled my sketchbooks with you, and yet, I still hated you.”

 

“I’m starting to think you _ still  _ hate me, Yamaguchi,” Tsukishima interjects sarcastically.

 

“Anyway,” Yamaguchi laughs, “I figured that I’d always hate you, even though I wanted to like you. I think it’s the same way with love. You never really know what it is, just how you never really know how to explain hate. I could say I hated you all I wanted, but I never knew the real reason why. So, I don’t know what you feel Tsukki, but love is different and it’s hard to understand. I can’t really answer your question.”

 

Yamaguchi finishes speaking, and he sighs, waiting for Tsukishima to answer him.

 

“No wonder you’re top of our class,” he grumbles.

 

“What do you mean?” says Yamaguchi.

 

Tsukishima sits up now, stretching his arms far above his head while yawning. Yamaguchi sits up as well, letting his hands lay out on the comforter across his lap. He hopes his bedhead isn’t too severe, but then again, he doubts that Tsukishima would really care.

 

“You just explained it precisely. How the hell is that possible? You described an emotion and it made _sense.”_

 

Yamaguchi lets out a laugh, and suddenly he can’t stop, because Tsukishima looks so dumbfounded and it’s just so goddamn cute. He can’t stand it. He was amazed by the stupidest things.

 

“Do you wanna know how I’d explain it?” Tsukishima prods, and Yamaguchi shakes his head to encourage him.

 

“Go ahead!”

 

Tsukishima grabs his glasses and slides them on, as if he thinks it’ll make him sound smarter if he’s wearing them. Yamaguchi withholds another laugh.

 

“So, basically, the idea of love is not one emotion, but many put together. That’s how I feel. When we had all those conversations last night, I felt so many things, and the word ‘love’ kept popping up inside my head, like when you went off on that tangent about how stupid Jurassic Park is–”

 

“I’m sorry, but it is.”

 

“–or how Autumn is a better season than Spring even though they keep the same average temperature. I found myself listening more intently than I do in my classes. It was odd. I didn’t know if it was a good thing, but seeing the smile grow on your face when you kept going on about the most random things...I think it made me realize why there isn’t a clear-cut definition of ‘love’ in any of the dictionaries I’ve read.”

 

Yamaguchi closes his eyes and grins from ear to ear.

 

Tsukishima loves him. Like, actually loves him.

 

This _is_ what love feels like.

 

“You’re right,” says Yamaguchi, and Tsukishima is nodding slowly.

 

“I know,” he answers, the same smile on his own face, albeit quite smaller.

 

Yamaguchi doesn’t mind, though. He knows it’s genuine.

 

\--

 

After spending the entire weekend at Yamaguchi’s house, Tsukishima feels quite grumpy when he trudges into volleyball practice and has to interact with people other than his boyfriend.

 

His boyfriend. That’s right. He has a boyfriend.

 

Yamaguchi  _ is _ his boyfriend, right?

 

He starts to panic a little, but he doesn’t let it show as he changes his shoes, sitting with his back against the gym wall. He’d never formally asked. Would Yamaguchi be assuming the same thing? Tsukishima could make an educated guess, judging by the implications of what a boyfriend was, but he didn’t want to think about it if Yamaguchi was not thinking the same thing. He stood, throwing his uniform shoes into his gym bag, and turned, almost walking straight into another person.

 

Yamaguchi. His boyfriend. His boyfriend? Yamaguchi.

 

Tsukishima grabs his arms instinctively, and Yamaguchi turns bright red.

“Hi!” he exclaims, the surprise evident on his face.

 

“Yamaguchi, will you be my boyfriend?”

 

Tsukishima blurts out the question before realizing that they’re in the gym and their teammates have all just fallen quiet. He can feel the eyes bearing down on him. Yamaguchi turns even redder, freckles camouflaged by the blush of his cheeks. His eyes look terrified.

 

Someone whistles. Tsukishima lets go of Yamaguchi’s arms and lets his hands drop to his sides. Letting out an awkward cough, all he can do is stare at the ground until he feels fingers wrapping around his wrist, pulling on his arm to let him know it’s okay to look back up.

 

“Yamaguchi!” a voice calls. Tsukishima recognizes it as Hinata. “Say yes! Say yes!”

 

“Shut up, you airhead! Leave them alone!” Kageyama’s voice comes a second after.

 

All of a sudden, Suga is beside them both, a cheesy grin plastered on his face. Tsukishima frowns, trying to ignore the rest of the team, who are now encaptured in yelling at each other for interrupting the moment.

 

“How are you guys?” Suga asks, putting a hand on both of their shoulders.

 

“Good,” Tsukishima says at the same time as Yamaguchi, who meets his eyes with a small smile.

 

“That’s good,” Suga says, nodding in agreeance. “Let’s start practice, shall we?”

 

They both nod, and Tsukishima has never felt more grateful for the third year’s presence. He’s helped, meddled, rather, more than Tsukishima would’ve cared for, but he can't complain anymore. The subtle presence of Yamaguchi’s hand moving down to hold his own erases any embarrassment from his mind, and Tsukishima tightens the grip, squeezing to let Yamaguchi know that everything turned out okay, and that yeah, maybe he was an idiot for catching everyone’s attention, but it didn’t matter.

 

Nothing mattered, because now they had each other.

 

Tsukishima doesn’t think about the day he walked past Yamaguchi, because even if he had stopped, he doesn’t doubt that it would’ve ended this way regardless.

 

That’s what love was.

 

It was complicated, and Tsukishima didn’t fully understand it (it made him mad; he usually excelled at understanding complex concepts), but understanding it was not the important part. It made him happy, and that’s what mattered. He could be happy because Yamaguchi was happy.

  
Even someone who wasn’t a genius like him could understand that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there we have it.  
> please let me know what you think; it's been a pleasure writing for all of you, and i hope i haven't disappointed you.  
> if you ever want to hit me up someplace, my tumblr is e-tooru; come talk to me!  
> let me know of anything you'd like to see me write in the future, perhaps? i'm always willing to write for anyone willing to read!  
> don't forget to rec this to your friends if you've enjoyed, haha  
> and, as always,  
> thank you for reading.  
> bye!


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